


Figures and Frescos - UPDATED!! ...finally.

by LadylikeFoxes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cocky and Hot-Blooded, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Forgive Me, Freeform, Gen, I know it's a terrible idea, M/M, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Sexy Solas, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sorry for writing this..., This isn't going where you think it's going..., Young Solas, please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadylikeFoxes/pseuds/LadylikeFoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>A Modern Solavellan AU.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <br/>“<em>Inhaelen.</em>”<br/>So I stopped. And then I turned.<br/>Because: <em>my name</em> on <em>his lips</em>—in <em>his voice</em>.</p><p>“Don’t go, okay? We’ll talk after class.”<br/>Though his tone might’ve implied I had a choice, it wasn’t a request.<br/>“Plus,” he smiled mischievously; “You’re only allowed two unapproved absences before your grade drops a letter.”</p><p> </p><p> <b>Also: <a href="http://varriccallsme-foxlette.tumblr.com/">My Tumblr</a> (if you're curious)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fen

**Author's Note:**

> The main character's name is **Inhaelen** : Pronounced _In-ay-eh-len_  
>  Her nickname is **Naele** : Pronounced _Nay-lea_
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3  
> Muah! xoxoxox

 

Dorian was holding fast to one of my hands, practically dragging me through the mob of da’laan  
—both Shem and Elvhen alike—to the old, dilapidated building, in the absolute worst side of Crestwood.  
It had been tagged with spray paint, several windows had been broken, and the door didn’t even shut  
entirely. The old Thedosian Legion had been a venue for shows since I was too young to even think about  
going. I hadn’t even been back in this town in years, and it was remarkable to me that the building was  
even still standing—nevermind up to public safety code.  
  
  
_“Why_ am I here, again?” I whined, pulling Dorian as I tried to move back towards the car.  
  
  
“Because I told Bull I’d meet him here, and I refuse to be the only miserable adult in the place.”  
  
  
Even all of my strength wasn’t enough to break his stride, or his tow of me. He made everyone around  
us look ridiculous and infantile; he stood at least a head above everyone else, his plaid button-up tailored  
perfectly, long-sleeves rolled up to show his milky chai skin and intricate tattoos, and his exquisitely-fitted  
black jeans. I had barely managed to tug on my “summer boots”—what I affectionately call my slouchy  
cloth ankle boots—and my Rude tank top before having been dragged down to Dorian’s car, where I had  
haphazardly managed to blot on some concealer and lipstick, nearly took out an eye applying mascara,  
and had given up on my hair entirely, defeated to letting it mat and tangle.  
 

“Aren’t we officially too old to see bands we like, unless they’re in an arena, or something?”  
  
  
Dorian wasn’t listening though, just parting through a sea of children, leaving me grasping desperately  
to his hand as I bounced into one person after another, getting whiplash. Finally I appeared in a clearing  
—thanks to Bull; no one was interested in standing too close to his horns.  
  
  
“Boss, you made it! Dorian said you weren’t gonna come.”  
  
  
“Really? Cause he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to, he just kidnapped me.”  
I grumbled, but it was probably inaudible over the thrashing of the band on stage.  
  
  
Bull lifted me up, and set me on his horns, which probably would’ve caused some groans from behind us,  
if the kids weren’t too scared of the Qunari. I dug around in my small satchel, finally finding a pair of earplugs,  
and rolling them up before shoving them in to dampen the sound.  
I looked around the dark room, absentmindedly. No one here was old enough for me to recognize.  
The band was composed of awkward, lanky teenagers, broken out in acne and seemed to be more fighting  
their instruments than playing them. I kept scanning the dark room, marveling at how nothing had changed  
in the eight years that had passed since I last was here. The band stopped, and the lights went on.  
  
And then I saw **_him_**.  
  
He stood in profile, talking to a _literal_ Wisp of a woman—swirling green mist, vaguely condensing enough to outline her form.  
He was at least as tall as Dorian, his features were sharp and angular, a side-shaved Mohawk of long, deep auburn dreadlocks  
spilled down his spine, carelessly tied back with a leather cord to display his pointed ears. He stood relaxed, long fingers  
intertwined behind his straight back; looking poised in his black jeans and t-shirt, one knee bent and the same foot en point  
behind the other. His skin was pale, though freckled, and his full lips were pulled tight into a cocksure, wolfish grin at something  
the Wisp had said.  
  
As if he felt my gaze, he turned his head quickly—meeting my eyes with his own pale grey stare: his expression blank.  
  
  
_Uh, yeah,_ _Inhaelen, keep staring. Great idea._

 

Luckily, Dorian broke my trance.  
  
**_“_** ** _Naele!”_**  
  
  
“Y-yes, what? Sorry.”  
  
  
“What in Andraste’s knickers were you staring at?”  
  
  
He stood on his tip-toes, eyeing around Bull.  
  
“Ohh, Mr. Tall, Pale, and Hobo-chic? He probably listens to Rivani Skaa,” Dorian sniffed.

  
“Don’t _you_ listen to Rivani Skaa?”

  
The man is lucky he’s beautiful and my best friend, because he is insane.  
  
“Yes, which is how I know it is shit.”

God, how did he seem to figure out everything?  
_Maybe my taste is too predictable._

“Dorian, _please_ , don’t say—”  
  
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”  
 

“ _Fenedhis lasa!_ ”  


“Now now, Boss. No need to be crass,” Bull patted my shin.  
  
“I don’t need Dorian’s help embarrassing myself.”  
  
I crossed my arms and pouted, but refused to look in his direction.  
  
  
“Bull?”  
  
“Yeah, Boss?”  
  
“Will you get me a beer?”  
  
“Sure thing.”

 

He walked us over to the bar that was inexplicably open—despite the room being filled almost exclusively  
with the black X’ed hands of minors. Bull ordered, but the grouchy old human jerked his chin up at me.  
  
“Gon’ need’tuh see yer ID, missy.”  
  
I rolled my eyes and handed it to him, already used to the drill.  
Twenty-five years old, but I’m small and childish, even by elvish standards.  
  
He eyed the ID for an annoyingly long time before passing it back to Bull, along with three bottles of Ale.  
I took a bottle and my ID from Bull, sliding him $5.  
  
“Boss. No.”  
  
He handed the money back, and I knew it was pointless to argue.  
  
  
Dorian reappeared, grinning like the demon he is.

  
“So, he’s not in a band, he was just working the Merch table while his friends played earlier  
—not that last band we heard, the one before that—"

  
 “Ugh, that’s it. Bull, please set me down?”  
As he placed me gently on the hollow wood floor, I dug around in my bag and walked briskly away from the pair,  
out the old side door I used to frequent. Finally finding a stale, bent cigarette in an old pack at the bottom of  
my sack, I flicked the only lighter I had; attempting to light the tip in this humid, muggy air…but to no avail.  
  
I growled under my breath, but just then, a flame appeared at the end.  
I puffed, looking up to thank my Nic-fix God—and wishing I hadn’t.  
The not-in-a-band guy was standing beside me, expressionless, save for a single quirked eyebrow.  
  
  
“T-t—Ahem. Thank you.”  
  
I choked a little, and immediately felt the flush rising onto my face.  


“Smoking is bad for you,” He stated, voice flat.  
  
“I know. I don’t smoke.”  
  
His eyebrow raised even higher as he eyed the cigarette in my hand.  
  
“I mean, I am smoking now, but I don’t usually. I stopped. Except for now, obviously. But usually, I don’t smoke, you know?”  
  
  
  
WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? SHUT YOUR MOUTH, GIRL.  
  


“No, I am afraid I don’t know.”  
  
A smirk curled at one corner of his lips, and he leaned coolly against the handrail behind him.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.  
  
  
“Sorry. I don’t smoke often anymore, except for when I am in stressful situations.”  
  
  
“Ah. Like with your friend in there?”

 

I blushed all over again, and shook my head, staring at my feet, and praying for the Creators to just suck me into the Fade.  


“Yeah, I’m sorry about him. He—there was a miscommunication.”  
 

I wasn’t even making sense to myself, so I couldn’t even imagine how confused he must be.  
  
“About what? He merely asked if I was in a band.”  
  
  
I just stayed quiet, staring at my feet and taking long, life-shortening drags from the withered cigarette in my hand.  
  
“Hey,” His voice was gentle and mischievous, and somehow I made myself look into his eyes.  
  
  
“I’m Fen.” He stuck out his hand, and I took it.  
  
  
“Inhaelen,” _No, wait,_ “Or, Naele, preferably.”  
  
  
He had pulled a pen from his pants pocket and was now writing on my hand, and I just stood there, dazed.  
He released me and pulled a backpack and a helmet from the top of the stairs behind me.  
  
“Text me sometime, _vis ma nuven._ ”  
  
He pulled his helmet on and climbed onto a black motorcycle nearby, kicking the engine into start.   
  
_Why hadn’t I noticed it that bike?_  
   
  
“And stop smoking,” he laughed before roaring away.

 

I looked down at the neat, elegant numbers inked onto my hand in awe. 

**_0-363-364-2735_ **

  
_Fen_ , huh?  
  
…A Wolf, for sure.

 

 

 

* * *

 

> **Translations:**
> 
> Da’laan: Many, mass amounts of children  
>  Shem: slang for Humans, Shemlen, (lit. Quick children)  
>  Fenedhis lasa: Roughly trans. “Go suck a wolf cock”.  
>  Vis ma nuven: If you wish
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen!  
>    
> 

* * *

 


	2. Beau Mystérieux (or: An Orlesian Bird)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's such a slow build! I hope it will be worth it for you!!
> 
> I live to please!!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading <3  
> Muah!! xoxoxoxox

I rolled over the next morning, hung-over and not in my own bed. The first thing I saw was a bottle  
of headache medicine and a glass of water, and I snatched them up, taking two pills and chugging  
the water faster than was wise. I considered my surroundings. I was in Leliana’s bed, in her apartment  
in Highever, dressed only in my tank-top and panties from the night before; a pair of borrowed socks   
pulled up over my thighs.  
  
  
“Bon matin, ma petite pomme!” Leliana swept into the room in an apron—her sing-song Orlesian  
voice slightly grating—carrying a tray of fresh-baked croissants, black coffee, and  
( _Thank the Creators!_ ) more water.

“Bon matin, Leli,” I managed through mouthfuls of buttery, fluffy pastry.  
  
  
“How did I end up here?”  
  
  
“Le Sacré Fabricant! Were you really that drunk?"

  
I flapped my hand at her, wincing at the volume of her voice.

  
"Leli, I’m too hung over for this much Orlesian…. I let Bull talk me into a contest." 

  
“And then Dorian called me, asking me to collect you, and you went on and on about some  
‘beau mystérieux’….”  
  
  
She was perching cheerfully beside me on the bed, pulling my hair over to one side and braiding it.  
I noticed she had cut her hair again, a lop-sided bob with one streak of midnight blue, and another  
of raven black. _Cheerful little Nightingale._  
  
Then the memory of the night before rushed back to me, and I scrambled to the side of the  
bed, looking for my phone. Luckily, it was still tucked into the back pocket of my shorts.  
Sliding my finger across the screen, I quickly scrolled through my messages.  
There was only one.

  
****Outgoing  
+0-(363)364-2735  
§ **Fen** §  


Fen, its Naele. So, now you have my number. **«** 2:49 am ****  
  


 

I sighed, both relieved and disappointed at the lack of reply. He probably didn’t even remember  
who I was. I looked down at my hand, seeing the smeared numbers he had written there. It didn’t  
even seem real to me. It seemed to have happened to someone else, maybe in a movie or tv  
show I had watched.  
  
  
“Not to worry, little dove,” Leli cooed at me, “Tonight you have to get plenty of rest. You start  
your second week at the Museum tomorrow!”  
  
  
_Ugh, damn._ I had only worked there a week, and I was already over Madame De Fer’s insufferable  
condescension.  
  
The up-side was that I got to close the place down all by myself, spending as much time as I liked  
wandering the halls or sketching my own copies of the pieces on the wall. I was particularly fond of  
the sculpture room—so many figures, carved from flawless marble, seeming to be able to spring to  
life at any moment. Plus, Leliana and Josephine had to pull some serious strings to get me that job;  
illustrating children’s books for the Chantry just didn’t pay well- or regularly enough.

 

“Do you mind taking me back to Dorian’s place? He has to drive me into Haven in  
the morning for work.”  
  
  
“That was already the plan, darling. And here, I have some clothes for you. I can’t seem  
to stop gaining weight!”

 

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that Leliana wasn’t gaining weight. She bought clothes  
too small for her just so she had something to give me every time we saw each other. Grateful  
anyway, I climbed off her huge bed and scampered into her spa-envy shower.  
  
  
_One day, I’ll be able to have a nice shower too._

 

Her water pressure was always just right, and she kindly kept a miniature set of my  
favorite shampoos and soaps on the ledge. I was rinsing my hair when Leliana came  
dancing in.  
  
“Votre beau répondu! Your Fen messaged back!”  
  
“What does it say?” I was yelling, but so was she, and now I was dancing, too.

>   
>  ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> 1:38 p.m. **»** Naele. You are, in fact, real. I thought  
>             you were just a lovely dream I had.
> 
>  

“Ah! Très charmant! You had better be careful with this one, Nae-nae. He is _too_ _onctueux_.” 

“Too _what?_ ”  
  
  
“ _Smooth_ , chéri. Clever with his words,” she popped her head into the glass door, and  
I tipped my head back to look at her.  
  
  
“This is the kind of man in whose focus—once his eye is caught—is a very dangerous place to be.”  
She purred the words with such mystery and danger, I felt my skin instantly ripple with  
goose-bumps and a chill ran down my spine, as she danced back out, giggling.

I turned off the water and dried myself off, tugging on the clothes Leliana had left  
for me as I tried to think of how to respond.

>   
>  ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> If I’M a lovely dream, your nightmares must be truly Horrible. **«** 2:05 p.m.

I set my phone down and gathered my things, shoving as much as I could into my small satchel  
before Leliana offered me a tote to stuff the rest of her gifts in. I blow-dried my hair, examining  
the dark roots with pursed lips, and my ends, seemingly permanently stained a sunset pink; if I  
bleached it again, it would be too damaged to save, and I’d have to cut it all off.  
  
  
Giving up, I wrapped up Leli’s hair dryer and tucked it back into its cabinet. She was already  
standing in wait at the door, my tote in one hand and a plate of her croissants in the other.  
  
  
  
The drive to Dorian’s lakeside condo was only thirty minutes or so, and he already had an early  
dinner prepared: Druffalo steak, mixed herbs and vegetables (seasoned, of course, with Tevene  
caraway), and Antivan wine. I couldn’t help myself from checking my phone every half-hour or so,  
even though I knew he hadn’t responded.  
  
“Leliana, that storm makes landfall tonight. Are you staying the night?” Dorian asked casually,  
as Bull inhaled his steak. 

“ _Non_ , I must be leaving, actually. I should like to make it home before the winds pick up.”  
  
  
  
She and Dorian stood up, and I followed them into the kitchen. Dorian wrapped up a slice  
of Antivan Chocolat Mousse cake for Leli to take with her.  
  
  
“Merci, Les Moustaché,” she kissed each of Dorian’s cheeks twice.  
“Enjoy the croissants! And stay safe!”

Leliana squeezed me tightly, and blew a kiss to Bull with an, “Au revoir!” as she walked out the  
door, and he waved, guzzling down his wine.

  
 

I helped Dorian put away the leftovers and clear the table as Bull washed the dishes. I chuckle every  
time I watch him handle porcelain… _Bull in a china shoppe._

 

I sat with them for a while, sketching Dorian’s profile as he sat reading next to Bull on the couch.  
Dorian was just gorgeous, and really was a sweetheart. I suppose I just hadn’t gotten a real grip on  
the whole adulthood thing like the rest of my friends.  
  
  
Around 9 o’clock, Dorian stretched and stood up.  
  
  
“Come, my little sunshine, let’s get you to bed. We have to leave at 6 tomorrow morning to  
get you back to Haven in time.”  
  
  
He led me into the guest room, as if I hadn’t slept there a million times before; turning down  
the comforter for me, turning on the fan and the bedside lamp before flipping off the overhead.  
He hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead before pulling back slightly, looking at me with  
that look I’ve grown to hate over the past eight months.  
  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t _have_ to keep working with Josie.”  
  
  
“Dorian, we broke up almost a year ago. You know I don’t have a problem with her _or_ Thom.  
They’re engaged and happy, and I love them both. I’m not going to die. I’ve been single before.”  
  
  
_Why am_ I _reassuring_ him _? I’m over this! I’m over Josie!  
_  

He pecked my lips gently before smoothing my hair, smiling.  
  
“Sleep sweet, babygirl.” He finally left me alone.  
  
  
I plopped down on the bed, and began sketching again.  
It started out randomly enough, but soon I recognized the crooked smile and the knowing eyes…  
and then my phone buzzed.

>   
>  ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> 9:44 p.m. **»** Hey, where are you right now?  
>    
> 

I felt my pulse flutter and my cheeks blush.  
I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath.  
  


> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> In the guest bed at my obnoxious friend’s condo in Cresthaven. **«** 9:46 p.m.

 

> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> 9:47 p.m. **»** Want to go for a ride?
> 
> ****  
> Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> Sure…But isn’t a storm about to hit? **«** 9:49 p.m.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> 9:50 p.m. **»** C’mon, Hale’udh, live a little. What’s the address?
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> 3672 Old Market Road, #5 **«** 9:51 p.m.
> 
> ****  
> Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>    
>  9:52 p.m. **»** Be there in 10. Wear something warm—prob. leather.  
>    
>    
> 

Without even thinking, I threw on my jeans over the now-stolen socks I was still wearing, and  
grabbed my leather bomber jacket; sliding my money, keys, and ID into the pockets. I turned  
off the lamp and slid open the window quietly before crawling out, climbing down a conveniently  
placed tree and walking to the main road in the wind and mist.  
  
It wasn’t until his headlight was shining on me that I realized, I hadn’t put on any makeup.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvhen:**  
>  Hale’udh: Little Fox  
>  **Orlesian (French):**  
>  Bon matin: Good morning  
> Ma petite pomme: My little apple  
> Sacré Fabricant: Sacred Maker  
> Beau mystérieux: Mysterious suitor  
> Onctueux: Suave, Debonair  
> Chéri: Darling, Dearest  
> Les Moustaché: The Moustache
> 
>  
> 
> Some of the Orlesian/French translations are  
> super obvious, but, you know. Due diligence, etc.
> 
> Thank you for reading<3 xoxo
> 
>  
> 
>  **Also, a HUGE THANK YOU**  
>  **for the AMAZING support of**  
>  **juliaxsnyder,[Aisln](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), & [BriarRose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose)**  
>  while I deal with the grieving process.
> 
>  
> 
> **You three are complete and total angels <3**


	3. On’nydha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motorbike ride through a hurricane.
> 
> I really am sorry for the torturously-slow build.  
> I swear, it will be made-up for!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> <3<3 Muah! xoxoxo

He pulled up next to me, turning off the engine and nudging out the kickstand before dismounting.  
He was even taller than I thought; I was about eye-level with his clavicle. He pulled off his helmet and  
handed it to me, digging in the saddlebag on one side for a slightly less sturdy-looking helmet.  
  
“I feel like I’m sixteen again. Crawling out of windows to meet a guy in the middle of a hurricane…”  
  
I had already begun my idiotic nervous rambling.  
He looked over his shoulder with a crooked grin.  
  
  
“Oh, so this isn’t your first rodeo?”

  
He was _making_ _fun_ of me.

  
  
“Well, the hurricane-thing is new, anyway.” I mumbled, shrugging to hide my blush.  
  
  
“Why _did_ you climb out of the window? You’re an adult….”  
  
  
His voice curled up at the end, as if suddenly unsure he had guessed my age correctly.

Fen’s voice was a deep tenor, lilting almost musically with his inflections, yet carried the clipped diction  
of a much older man; it was the sound of dulcet mahogany: honeyed, refined, and confident—But with an  
occasional piquancy that hinted at a risk, an artful dangerousness. It was sinful how wickedly attractive  
the duplicitous nature of his voice was.

  
“ _Yeah_ , but Dorian can be a bit of a ‘mother hen’. We’re leaving early in the morning, so he’d have never  
let me go ride around on a motorcycle, in a storm, with a stranger.”  
  
  
Fen laughed at that, head tossed back. He had incredible teeth…all perfectly white and straight, his canines  
slightly longer than the rest. He had that whole vampire-look going on—you know, the kind teenaged girls  
were into lately.  
  
  
“Well, _someone_ has to protect you from the big, bad wolf.”  
   
His whispering croon was very ‘matter-of-fact’.  
  
  
My pulse sped up and he adjusted the strap under my chin, the back of his fingers brushing my cheek.  
  
  
“Maybe someone should be protecting the wolf.”  
  
  
_Did I just say that? I whispered it, I think…. Maybe he didn’t hear me._

  
But his chuckle as he re-mounted his bike belayed my brief hope.  
  
He pulled up the kickstand and balanced the bike, gesturing for me to climb on. I managed to slip my  
foot over the seat behind him, and after an awkward hop-thing, I successfully had my feet on the small  
pegs he had flipped out for me, all without burning myself on the engine.  
  
  
“Like a pro; a short pro. You _have_ done this before,” he chuckled again.  
  
  
I shrugged against him.  
  
  
“My dad has a bike. And so did a guy I talked to once.”  
  
“‘Some guy you talked to once’?”  
  
“You know: talked to, hung out with. Never actually dated, but wasn’t just my friend.”

 

“Ah,” he kick-started the engine, “So you have a lot of these?”  
  
“ _Ha!_ ”  
  
  
My laugh was a little too loud, but the rumbling helped to muffle it.

 

“Yeah, _so many_. It’s my magnetic personality; I can’t seem to keep them around long  
enough to beat them off of me…. Honestly, I haven’t even flirted with another person  
in, like, a year. Not that I was all that talented at it to begin with.”  
  
  
_You’re rambling again. He either gets the point, or he doesn’t. Shut up.  
_  

I felt the rumble of his gentle laugh through my chest.  
  
  
“Hold on, Naele.”  
  
  
“Wh—?”

  
I barely heard him before he twisted the throttle and shifted gears, moving the bike  
forward with sudden force, and I scrambled to wrap my arms around his waist; earning  
another rumble of laughter from Fen, though the sound was whipped away by the  
passing wind.  
  
  
  
We rode a little too fast around the curves and bends of the scenic highway of the  
Storm Coast; the winds rocking us slightly as Fen adjusted to each gust, and I tightened  
my grip around him nervously. My hair was soaked, but luckily Fen's body seemed  
block most of the rain from my clothes. 

  
He finally slowed slightly and dipped down onto a gravel path right against a rising cliff  
face, leading us off towards the beach. He slowed to a stop under an overhang, providing  
a dry patch of sand in an alcove, maybe 200 steps from where the waves pounded  
against the rocky shore. 

 

"Is this where you bring all your victims?" I asked, dismounting.  
 

 _Smooth, Nae. Real smooth.  
_  

He laughed again and tugged off his helmet; his auburn dreds loose and pushed to one side,  
dripping with rainwater.   
  
  
"Only the fighters." 

  
He winked at me; those gorgeous, heavy-lidded stormy eyes gazing languidly into mine, his  
chin held high (a constant, I had noted). I felt myself beginning to redden again, so I dropped  
unceremoniously into a cross-legged sit, and stared pointedly out into the dark, tempestuous  
beach. He mirrored my movement, though with markedly more grace. Every move he made, it  
seemed, was unhesitating and poised—rather  _too_  much so, for someone his age. I looked at him  
more closely now, searching for anything I may have missed. He had the faintest hint of wrinkles  
slowly crinkling into the corners of his eyes, and his laugh-lines at either side of his mouth—  
though nearly invisible—were slightly deeper than I had previously noticed. Before thinking,  
I blurted out.

  
“How old are you?”  
 

 _WOW. Way to go, Girl. Gold star, right here.  
_  

He glanced at me side-long before tilting his head, a slow, devilish smirk crawling across his lips.  
  
  
“A gentleman never asks, and a lady never tells.”  
  
  
His mock-pomposity made me feel slightly better, though I still reflexively ducked my head in  
embarrassment.  
  
  
“Sorry, that was rude."

  
"No, it's fine. I'm 38."

  
"Oh."

  
It was a serious shock—even by elvish standards. He didn’t look a day over 32.  
  
  
“And you?”  
  
He smiled, cocking an eyebrow.

  
“24.”  
  
  
“Are you sure? You look about 15.”  
  
  
I rolled my eyes.  
  
  
_Haven’t heard **that one** every time I’ve tried to buy cigarettes or alcohol._  
  
  
“I only tease. You have wise eyes; too old for a child.”  
  
  
“Am I wrinkling already?”  
  
  
He smiled, leaning down and pressing his lips just below my ear.  
  
When he pulled away, I couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t speak either.  
We just watched the waves mercilessly thrash against the beach—like a one-sided  
argument between scorned lovers.  
  
I shivered slightly, realizing the mist had dampened me to the core. He put his arm  
around me, as if unthinkingly; pulling me close to share the heat radiating from his body.

It only felt like moments until he stood, brushing off his pants and holding his hand  
out to me. I checked my phone. **3:49 am.**  
  
He handed his helmet to me before mounting his bike again, kicking the starting pedal.  
I tightened my chinstrap before hopping on behind him. On the long, wet return, I allowed  
my fingers to travel beneath his coat, underneath his sweater. I traced the sharp angles  
of his hipbones over and over, feeling his hum rumble through my chest again.  
  
  
  
We pulled back up to Dorian’s place, and he turned off his bike and dismounted; slowly  
putting away his spare helmet before taking his own from my out-stretched hand.

He turned to me then, hooking his thumbs in my belt-loops and pulling me in close.  
I couldn’t bring myself to look up into his face, to meet his eyes. I merely pressed my nose  
and lips to his clavicle, inhaling deeply the smell of cedar and black pepper, Elfroot, and  
something else that was distinctly _him_.  
  
  
He brushed his lips against my cheek, and I felt as if I were about to melt into him as he  
whispered lowly.  
 

“ _On’nydha, Da’len._ ”  
 

“On’nydha, ma’ Fen.”

 

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On’nydha, Da’len: Goodnight, Little one.  
> Ma’ Fen: My Wolf
> 
>  
> 
> <3 xoxo


	4. A Silent Month (or: 'This Shit is Weird' Book Release Party)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas-less, but flirty with Cullen!!
> 
> Also, the song mentioned: **[Ghost by Halsey](https://play.spotify.com/track/5dcYoYFAXh0f0qI05AoufB)**
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> Bear with me and, I promise,  
> it'll be better in no time.

  

Incoming  
+0-(363)364-2735  
§ **Fen** §  


9/38 10:28 a.m. **»** What are you doing right now?

 

Outgoing  
+0-(363)364-2735  
§ **Fen** §  


Working. You? **«** 11:01 a.m. 9/38

 

Incoming  
+0-(363)364-2735  
§ **Fen** §  


10/05 7:37 p.m. **»** Where do you work?

Outgoing  
+0-(363)364-2735  
§ **Fen** §  


Haven. A museum in the renov. Temple of Ashes. **«** 7:53 p.m. 10/05

 

 

Scrolling through the messages for the zillionth time, I sighed; rolling over onto my stomach.  
Dorian was sitting next to me on the bed and flipping through an old _Orlesian Living_ magazine.  
  
  
“Girl, it’s been a month. You need to Let. Him. Go.”  
 

“Forreal, Nae-nae. He sounds like a complete titwanker, anyways.”

  
Sera sat on the floor, back against the bed, biting her nails and watching _The Real_  
_Housewives of Val Royeaux_.  


“An’ wasn’t he, like, _old_?”

  
“Ahem, he was only two years older than I!”  
 

Dorian sat up, tossing the magazine at her head.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s just talk about something else. Distract me.”

   
They were right. I needed to just let it go. Forget about him.  


  
“Okay, how about…. _When_ are you going to get ready for Varric’s party?”  
 

Oh, right. The book release party. _This Shit is Weird_ _: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story_.

  
  
“ _Why_ did I agree to let him use my clan name, again?”  
  
  
“Oh, not just the clan name, darling. You really don’t remember? God, you were drunk.  
He based the whole Inquisitor character after you.”

  
I groaned loudly, lifting myself off the bed.

 

“Dorian, you seriously have to restrain Bull from challenging me to drink.  
Also, from preparing or serving me drinks.”  
  
  
I slouched and dragged my feet towards the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I realized  
how pathetic I looked. I hadn’t washed my hair in 9 days, and the bags under my eyes  
were nearly an eggplant color. Whatever, though. Who did I have to impress?

Dorian’s voice broke through my reverie of self-loathing.

 

“Oh, did I mention Cullen Rutherford is going to be there?”  


Ah. Shit. In that case…

   
  
“Dorian? I’m gonna need you to do my makeup. And hair. And pick out my clothes.”

  
“Already started, darling.”  


  
God, I love that man.

 

* * *

 

“Inhaelen Lavellan! Little Vixen! My Muse has arrived!”

 

Varric had both of my hands in his, and was twisting announcing my presence to the entire house.

 

“You look amazing, Naele!”

Dorian appeared by my side, obviously proud of his work.

  
“Thank you.”

  
I nudged him in the ribs.

  
“Yes, thank you. Long-time, no-see, Varric. Do I get a free, signed first edition of the book?”

  
  
“Of course! It’s all wrapped up for you, hidden away in the kitchen. Come in! Make yourselves at home!  
And check the cabinet by the fridge, behind the cereal boxes.”

 

He winked at me before gesturing for us to proceed into the house. It was a really nice house. Very modern,  
clean lines; but most of the furniture and such was low—appropriately dwarf-sized. We had driven three  
hours to get to Kirkwall, across the newly-built Valmont toll-bridge, in honor of Empress Celene. Thankfully,  
Varric had spare rooms, and had offered to let us stay the night. 

I dodged most of the crowd, dipping into the (slightly) less crowded kitchen, to a pleasant surprise.

 

“Krem de la crème!”  


“Nae! C’mere, girl!”

  
Krem threw his arms out and lifted me into a twirling hug before setting me down and gently patting my  
hair back into place.

  
“What can I get you? You’ve _got_ to need a drink…especially with all these people around.”

He was apparently playing bartender for the evening.

 

“Ha, yeah. No kidding. Something strong—But not, like, _Bull_ strong.”

Krem laughed and gave me the finger-guns.

“Gotcha, lil lady.”

 

With my Tonic de Krem in hand, and after digging around in the cabinets to find my copy of Varric’s book,  
I braved the ever-thickening sea of people. Some were recognizable, or famous. I saw King Alistair & Queen  
Anora, Duke Germain de Chalons, Marquis de Chevin, Comtesse Helene, and Baroness Natale de Lasouche.  
I also briefly saw Thom and Josephine, talking to my _boss_ , Vivienne—but, before they saw me, I quickly  
dipped into Varric’s Library, which was ( _Thank the Creators_ ) empty.

I shut the door behind me and pulled out my phone and headphones, sitting in a cozy wing-backed chair  
and playing Halsey’s “Ghost” as I opened Varric’s book.

 

>   
>  _Naele—_
> 
> _My muse and inspiration for my main character._  
>  _You’re a strong woman. I’m proud to call you my friend;_  
>  _even if you never want to play Wicked Grace with me._  
>  _Yours truly,_
> 
> _—Varric_
> 
> _P.S. You do, in fact, receive royalties for the use  
>            of your name  & likeness. Unfortunately I have  
>                           already spent the initial amount re-enrolling you at U.O. _

 

What a sweetheart. I skimmed the book briefly, before Dorian threw the door open  
dramatically. I pulled out one earphone.

  
“I thought I’d find you here. _He_ has arrived.”

 

For a moment, I thought he meant Fen, and stomach turned.

  
Then I came back to reality.  
  
_Oh…he means Cullen Rutherford._  


**Oh.**

 

“Shall I introduce you?”

Dorian grinned at me impishly, raising his eyebrows.  
  
I stood and put my earphones and book in my purse before stashing it behind the chair.  
Stopping to check my reflection in Varric’s grandfather clock, I sighed and presented  
myself to Dorian.  
  
“Touch up your lipstick and grab your drink. You’ll look more casual holding it.”  
  
I followed his advice before taking his arm, and strolling back out into the suffocating crush  
of people.  
  
I saw Cullen from across the room: easy to spot as one of the few people taller than Dorian.  
Strong jaw, slightly scruffy, and an alarmingly attractive scar above his upper lip. He had golden  
amber eyes, and his blonde hair had that effortless styled-but-not look; swept aside into a  
slightly-curly quiff. I had seen him once before—about six months ago—from afar at the  
museum, and when Dorian mentioned they were acquainted, I nearly swooned. He was now  
actually talking to Josie and Leliana with a polite (but rather forced) smile.  
  
  
Dorian waltzed us up, despite my hesitation, and interrupted them mid-conversation.  
 

“Commander Cullen!”

 

Cullen flinched knowingly before grinning and reaching out to shake Dorian’s hand.

  
“How _did_ Varric manage to get me to agree to using my actual name in the book?”

  
“I believe he offered you lots of money, and then beat you at Wicked Grace.”  
 

“Ah, yes. How unfortunate. Pardon my manners, ma’am, I’m Cullen.”  
 

He blushed slightly and reached out his hand to me. I placed my hand in his, and went to  
shake it, as he bowed to kiss it. It was immediately awkward.

 

“Pardon _my_ manners. May I introduce, _Lady Inquisitor_ Inhaelen Lavellan? Or, as the rest of us  
know her, Naele.”

 

Dorian, feigning mortification, smirked at our matching blushes.

 

“Please, just Naele. Or Nae. Inhaelen is….”

  
“Difficult to pronounce?”

 

I threw Dorian a look, before smiling at Cullen.  
  
  
“Exactly.”

 

“May I get you another drink?”

Such a gentleman. I nodded and followed him back into the kitchen.

 

“Krem-puff!” 

  
Cullen looked at me curiously until Krem turned around and smiled at me.  
  
  
“Need a topping-off, Nae-nae? And for you, sir?”

“Uhm, just a Whiskey. Neat, please.”  
  
  
“Comin’ right up!”

  
Cullen gently touched my arm, and whispered.

  
“Is that Cremisius Aclassi? The U.O. football player? The Chargers?”

“Yeah, but he prefers Krem, though.”  
  
  
He looked from Krem to me, amazed, as I picked up the glass Krem had set down  
for me.

  
“How do you know him?”

I laughed a little. He was so sweet.

 

“Iron Bull? The Coach?”

  
“Yeah?”  
  
  
“He’s dating Dorian.”

He looked down, nodding thoughtfully before thanking Krem. He took a long sip of  
his whiskey.

  
  
“And, how do you know Dorian?”

  
“Oh, ha, um…”

  
“If I’m prying, I’m sorry—”

  
“No! No, I just have to remember. We met when I was in high school. I was dual-enrolled: you  
know, taking college classes for both high school and college credit? And Dorian was the T.A.  
for my Art History Class. We just…I don’t know. Meshed. He’s my best friend.”

  
_Uh…you’re rambling again. At_ Cullen _frigging_ Rutherford _…_  


“Sorry. I talk a lot when I’m…”  
 

Cullen raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

“You know, nervous.”

 

He blushed just the tiniest bit, ducking his head slightly.

“I wish I did that. I tend to clam up.”  
  
  
  
“No, trust me. Not talking is way better than talking too much. I am _far_ more annoying than  
you….Annnddd much more prone to embarrassing myself.”  
 

It was my turn to blush and duck, now. I took a long swig of my gin and tonic.

 

“You haven’t done so yet. So, what do you do?”

 

Cullen smiled at me, encouragingly.

  
“Oh. I, um…I’m an illustrator, but that pays terribly. And I work at the renovated Temple museum  
in Haven. Oh—and I just found out that Varric has re-enrolled me in classes next month. So, what  
_don’t_ I do?”  
 

I laughed awkwardly again, taking another big sip of my drink.

  


“That’s more exciting than being a financial analyst.”  
 

“Oh Creators, that would be _the worst!_ ”

 

_Shut. Your. Frigging. Mouth. This is CULLEN._

“Oh, Fendhis, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean—”  
  
  
He just laughed, though, and smiled at me warmly.

  
“No, you’re right. For an artist, it would be deathly bland.”

 

We sat on the kitchen stools and talked for a while. He was so shy, so naturally kindhearted.  
He finally had to leave, but he left me his card; told me to call him sometime, that we’d get coffee. 

When Dorian passed him in the kitchen doorway, they shared a friendly goodbye and a handshake.  
Dorian turned to me the instant Cullen was out of sight, his arms and eyes wide, eyebrows raised  
and grinning slyly.  
  
 

I merely flashed him Cullen’s business card, and he scooped me up off the stool, twirling me around,  
as we laughed triumphantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ily all <3 xoxoxox


	5. Syllabuses & Lucky Number 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little foreshadowing and making new friends!  
> Our favorite Trickster God  
> will return in the next chapter!!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading!!  
> Muah! <3<3
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> Songs Mentioned:  
>   
> [Get Some by Lykke Li](https://play.spotify.com/track/5LbCx9z3eq83JVoJ74tnmt)  
> [Delilah by F&tM](https://play.spotify.com/track/12HB8AmFTovKrFcGG36KbL)

 

I spent the next month packing up my tiny, shitty apartment and preparing/panicking for my move  
back to Val Royeaux. Luckily, Dorian already had a three-bedroom villa there—since he is a “professor”  
at U.O. (I say “professor” because he doesn’t actually teach any classes)—so I was really just moving in  
with my best friend. Vivienne had merely transferred me to a private museum she owned there and cut  
me down to part-time, so I could take my classes the other two days a week. I finally was going to  
have _weekends_ again! 

  
What really bothered me was the whole going-back-to-school thing. I had dropped out just 9 credits  
short of my degree, so I was only taking two classes the first semester, and one class the second  
semester. I kept telling myself that it would be better this time: the workload wasn’t too high, it was  
only two semesters, and _this_ time I had Dorian to keep an eye on me. Everything was going to be fine.

  
  
On moving day, Leliana came over with her croissants and (a grumpy) Sera in tow, all tear-eyed  
and acting like she was never going to see me again.

“Leli, it’s only a 5 hour drive, and Dorian said you can come stay whenever you want.”

  
“ _Je connais_ , Nae—”  
  
I love how she pronounced my name… _Neh_ _é._

 

“—But I will miss your _mignon visage à notre appartement_!”

  
“Lel, cut it out with the Orlais-talk. She’s not dying.”  
  
Sera was sitting on a pile of my boxes, eating _my_ pastries. She was right, though, Leliana would  
revert back to Orlesian any time she got emotional, and while I knew a fair amount, sometimes  
I had to just go off context clues.

 

“I’ll miss you too, Sera!”  
  
I kissed her cheek and ruffled her bob. She grinned a little, but she was _not_ a morning person,  
and it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet.

  
  
Dorian waltzed right through the door, not bothering to knock, of course.  
  


_What if it had been locked? Thump! Right in his pointy, beautiful nose.  
_

I chuckled at the thought as Bull came in right behind him; having to duck so his horns didn’t take  
out the doorframe.  
  


“Are we ready, Boss?”  
  
  
Bull had already moved anything big into storage for me, and Leliana was going to keep my car for  
me until I decided whether or not I needed it—Dorian was literally providing me with _everything_ I needed.  
Family money must be nice; but Dorian was so bizarrely, over-the-top _kind_ to me in a way I never seemed  
to get used to, and never wanted anything in return. Except, of course, the occasional outing to somewhere  
annoying. But I owed him those, at the _very_ least.

“Yes, my muscular apricot."

  
Dorian walked over and squeezed me tightly, before looking at my grand-total of 7 medium/small boxes.  
  
“This is all you’re bringing? I want you to feel at home, darling.”

“It’s not like I have a whole bunch of stuff _to_ bring. I have my clothes, my art and supplies, some trinkets,  
my toiletries, and yeeah. That’s pretty much it.”  
  
  
He looked at the boxes with pursed lips before lifting one; cueing the rest of us to do the same,  
exiting one by one, each carrying a box or two down to Dorian’s car…except Sera, who was trailing  
us, carrying only the plate of croissants.  
 

We managed to pack it all in the trunk, with only two boxes and my backpack in the back seat  
with me. We gave each other tight hugs all around—Sera seemed more sad that Bull was leaving  
than me, and Leli was nearly to the point of tears.  
  
“ _Doriane,_ garantir pour _notre petite artiste_ est pris de bons soins, _oui_?”  
  
It was almost a threat, but that was hardly surprising coming from Leliana. He smiled at her and  
they kissed each other’s cheeks.

  
“Oui m’dame, _certainement_.”

 

I climbed into the back seat and took my motion-sickness pill.

“Call me when you arrive, chéri! _Oh, no, you don’t call_ …Text me!”  
  
  
“I will! And Sera, text me all the time, okay?”  
  
  
“Yah, forsure! Love ya!”

 

“Love you both! Muah! Bye!”

 

* * *

 

 

I would say that the road-trip had been fun, but honestly, I slept the entire time. I only finally woke up  
when we approached the Sun Gates. Val Royeaux—the “wealthier” parts, anyway—never ceased to  
amaze. Marble and gold everywhere; old, beautifully maintained statues and fountains. It really was a  
city for artists.

 

Dorian’s villa, unsurprisingly, was about halfway between the Summer Bazaar and the University,  
and had an amazing view of the Waking Sea. Really, it was ridiculous. The entrance had an atrium, open  
to the blue sky, above a small pool and a wrap-around pillared terrace, so there was a constant, warm  
breeze. The bedrooms all had at least 3 Orlesian-style doors, instead of windows, leading out to the  
terrace. Dorian said he always slept with his doors open at night, but there was an ornate fan in “my”  
new room should I get too hot at night.

The room, itself, was about the size of my apartment living room; a king-sized bed of ornately aged  
ashwood stood against the wall directly across from the hallway door, but the rest of the furniture was  
simple, and much more my style. A single wingback chair, and a simple table (work bench, really; it was  
so long!) sat on top of the polished wooden floors, and a modest round rug sat beneath the foot of the  
bed and gave the space a much-less empty look. I walked through the set of doors to my left to find  
the bathroom: All white, more doors to the terrace, a claw-foot tub, and the same hardwood floors.

 

 

“Dorian, I don’t think I can stay here…It’s like a freaking hotel.”  
  
  
I walked into his room, which had very Tevinter-inspired décor (surprise, surprise.)  
 

“Naele, don’t be ridiculous. At least stay for a month, and if you’re still unhappy,  
we’ll find you something more…rustic.”  
  
  
“I’m not _unhappy_ , I just…don’t—I mean, why are you so nice to me?”  
  
  
“Awe, pumpkin, c’mere.”

He pulled me onto the bed with him, my head on his chest, and he stroked my hair. 

“You helped me deal with my shit when _you_ were at your lowest point, and never said a word about  
it; never complained. You’re my best friend. If you weren’t a woman, I’d marry you. But, since you  
_are_ a woman, I will just spoil you as much as- and as long as I can. So, deal with it.”  
 

I squeezed him tightly, and his kissed the top of my head.  
  
  
“Now, go get dressed. We’re going out.”  
  
“I am dressed…?”  
  
“Okay, then we’re going shopping, and THEN out.”

 

 

* * *

Varric called me first thing the next morning. I was already walking to the University, Dorian’s  
homemade espresso in hand, and listening to Lykke Li’s _Get Some_ , when my phone rang. Normally,  
I never answer the phone. Ever. It gives me major anxiety. But this was Varric, and I knew it was  
about school, so…Exceptions can be made.

 

“Hello?”  
  
  
“Nae-Bae! It’s your first day back! Feelin’ good?”

  
“Yeah, I’m walking right now. I’ve got Master Oil-painting first, then after lunch I’ve  
got Advanced Figure Study.”  
 

“Oh, I know a guy who just started teaching Figure Study there. Name’s Solas. He also teaches  
Elvhen Pigment and Plaster Fresco. If you get him, tell him I said hi.”  
  
  
  
“I will. Thank you again for doing this. You and Dorian and Bull, and Josie and Leliana—even  
_Vivienne_ …You’ve all been so supportive and helpful, and I could never repay the debt I owe  
all of you.”  
 

“We just want to see you happy and back on your feet, kiddo. We love ya! Oh, hey, I meant to tell  
you: Cullen said he’ll be in Val Royeaux on Saturday and wanted to know if he could get your number.”  
  
  
“Ha, really? Wow…Okay, yeah! But on one condition.”

  
“Name it, girly.”  
  
  
“You have to inform him about my no-calling policy. Texts only.”  
  
  
He laughed so loudly, I had to hold the phone away from my face.  
  
“I forgot about that! Man, I’m sorry!”  
  
  
“Nah, it’s okay. I only answered this time cause it was you and I knew it was about school,  
so I broke my own rule. Next time, just text me ‘I’m about to call you’ first, so I can  
prepare myself.”

 

“Aye aye, Captain! Hey, I gotta go.”

 

“Me too, I just got to class. Thank you again, Varric. Love you!”  
  
  
“Love you, Naele! Text me later and lemme know how it goes! Bye!”  
  
  
“I will! Bye.”  
  
  


I had forgotten how much I loved the smell of oil paints. Dorian had gifted me with a brand new,  
huge set of paints, since most of mine were so old, they had dried in their tubes. He also bought me  
a gorgeous set of Rivani brushes that came in a beautifully plain cedar box (no doubt costing him a  
small fortune). Since he had to be there earlier than I did, he had brought my canvases in his car this  
morning, and had left them in the studio I’d be in. And since Dorian had access to my syllabus in advance,  
I knew I didn’t need to bring in the rest of my supplies just yet. I was a little early, but I went ahead into  
the room anyway. There were three other people already sitting at whatever easels they had picked.  
I saw my canvases propped up against an easel in the back corner of the class, right next to the wall of  
windows that—as it was the fashion—were all open. Just the spot I would have chosen myself. I smiled at  
how well Dorian knew me. The tall, thin, rolling cabinet that sat next to the easel had a clasp and a ring  
for a padlock; syllabuses were already on top of every cabinet, so I took the remaining time to look over it.

  
 

* * *

 

 

> **Master Oil-Painting  
>  ** T—TH, 9:00 a.m. — Rm. 111  
>  **Professor Marethari Talas, D.F.A.**
> 
>   
>  Credit Hours: 3  
>  Lecture Hours: 0  
>  Studio Hours: 6  
>    
> 
> 
> ** Course Objective: **
> 
> Course will focus on habituation and honing various techniques and styles within the  
>  painting genre. Students are encouraged to practice individual methodologies through  
>  a combination of studio exercise incorporated with study of historical and contemporary  
>  art theory. Studio element designed to further analysis of painting rudiments via the figure.  
>    
> 
> 
> **Note: Students should expect to spend 6+ additional hours per assignment  
>  _outside of class time_. You are in an MASTER class.**
> 
> **  
>  Course Timeline: **
> 
> Day 1:             Introduction and Review of Syllabus.
> 
> Wk 1:               Start a 6-section still-life painting.  
>                         Prop: Halla skull &etc. (24”x28” canvas)
> 
> Wk 2-3:          Continue & Complete the still-life painting
> 
> ******* Homework: Create 3 sketches for your Surrealistic painting  
>                        project for next class by combining photographic images  
>                        (subject of your choice, but look for references)
> 
> Wk 4:              Start a 6-section Surrealistic painting (36”x50”)
> 
> Wk 5-7:          Continue & Complete the Surrealistic composite painting
> 
> Wk 8:              Start a 7-section portrait painting (22”x30”) from life model
> 
> Wk 9-11:        Continue & Complete the portrait painting from life model
> 
> Wk 12:            Start a 9-section full figure painting (40”x60”). Subject: female nude
> 
> Wk 13-15:      Continue & Complete the full figure painting from nude model
> 
> Wk 17:           Complete all paintings done this semester & Final

 

* * *

 

“Hi, I’m Dagna!”  
 

The high, pleasant voice startled me, and I turned to see an _adorable_ dwarf lady sitting on the  
stool next to mine, swinging her feet, unable to even reach the foot-bar. Height-aside, she looked  
too young to be in a college class. She had a round face and perfect cream skin dusted with little  
freckles across her tiny button nose. Her hair was a vibrant natural red, pulled back into a ponytail.  
She smiled at me widely, and her emerald eyes were large and friendly. I smiled back a little shyly.  
I was always nervous the first time I spoke to someone new—no matter who they may be.  
  


“Hey, I’m Naele.”

 

“Is this your thing?”

My face unquestionably must have shown how completely confused I was.  
  
“My thing?”

 

“Yeah, like, getting your Masters in painting?”  
  
  
“Oh, yeah—Well, Fine Arts. You?”

“Oh, no. I’m actually a student at The Circle. I just take art classes here to blow off some stress.”

 

“The Circle? But, I thought Dwarves don’t possess magical abilities.”

She looked so excited that I brought it up. It was so precious.

  
“No, we don’t—But even though I can’t _use_ magic, I study Magic Theory. You know, its nature,  
what gives certain people or object magical qualities, etc. I’m an _Arcanist._ ”

 

“That is actually one of the most bad-ass job descriptions I’ve ever heard.”  
  
  
She squealed quietly, delighted.  
  
“Thank you! I think so too! Oh—”

 

We stopped talking as our Professor arrived. She was a tall, older elf, and her rarely-seen mark of Mythal  
Vallaslin of not only indicated she was Dalish, but that she was also much older than she looked. She carried  
herself with a casual dignity, and had a warm countenance.  
  
  
“I am Professor Marethari Talas, but I prefer Marethari to Professor Talas, Professor, or ‘Teach’. _Amelan_  
is also acceptable, if you speak Elvhen. I am the retired Keeper of the Dalish Clan Sabrae. I have a  
Doctorate in Fine Arts. I don’t do much talking, except occasional one-on-one advice regarding your  
projects; and—if I like you—maybe even life advice.”  
  
She smiled teasingly as she looked around at us.  
  
  
“Since this is a master class, I expect you to know what you will need and for you to have them when  
they are needed. You will need to write your name on the strip of tape on your cabinets, and, if you’re  
smart, also on your supplies. Also, I expect you all already know this, but your cabinets are to be  
padlocked, so bring your own to class on Tuesday. Brushes and paint are not cheap, and it is  
remarkable how easily something can be “borrowed” and not returned.”  
  
She shrugged and raised her eyebrows like, _What can you do?_  
  
  
“The code for the door is 76527. Write it down and memorize it; you’re free to use the studio any  
time a class is not in session. You all have your syllabus, and since we won’t meet again until  
Tuesday, I’m not going to have you start on your still life painting until then. So, you are  
dismissed! Enjoy your first day back.”

  
As the class all simultaneously stood up, I remained sitting on my stool, not desiring to get jolted  
about trying to funnel out of the door with 20+ other people. Dagna hopped down off her seat and  
turned to me, reaching to shake my hand.  
  
“It was _lovely_ to meet you! See you Tuesday!”  
  


“It was great meeting you too. Bye, Dagna.”  
  
  
I smiled at her and stood, stuffing my syllabus into my rucksack and gathering my canvases.  
I bowed slightly to Marethari as I passed her, giving her a polite smile, and made my way across  
the square to the Art History building, which also held all the Arts Department offices. Making  
my way up the three flights of stairs, I surfaced in a windowless, drab hallway and walked along  
until I came to Dorian’s office. The door was open, and he was sitting back in his chair with his  
feet crossed atop his desk, twisting his moustache with one hand while holding a cup of coffee  
in the other. F&tM's _Delilah_ was playing quietly in the background. It was much less drab in his  
office (definitely with some help from Dorian, himself), and there were several windows, making  
me squint as I emerged from the dim hallway.

 

“You look so villainous.”

“Babydoll! Wow, that was a quick syllabus overview. Record-breaking, even.”  
  
  
“Ha, she didn’t even go over it with us. She just told us to read it and dismissed us.”  
  
  
“Yes, Marethari is fairly laid back. She won’t teach introductory courses because she says  
she’s ‘too old to teach common sense’.”  
  
  
We laughed, and I looked around, spotting a storage closet.  
  
  
“Hey, do you mind if I keep my canvases in here when I need them for class? Blank canvases get  
snatched up really easy if you don’t hide them, and my cabinet in class isn’t big enough.”  
  
  
“No problem, darling! Anything you need.”

He gestured to the closet, and I opened it to find it nearly empty, except for a couple stacks  
of paper that were so old, they were yellowed and brittle. I stuck the canvas in and shut the  
door, turning with a raised eyebrow to Dorian.  
 

“What do you even _do_ here, anyway?”

  
“Mostly research and publish on newly acquired pieces. Or edit and fact-check for  
the other Arts Faculty when they publish.”

 He shrugged and waved one hand.  
  
  
“ _Fascinating._ ”

  
“Hey, it’s a job! So, it’s only 10. What time is your next class?”

“1p.m. Room 131.”  
  
“Who’s your Professor?”  
  
“No idea.”

 

He turned to his computer and quickly typed in something.  
  
“Huh. Solas. New guy, I suppose. I’ll print out the syllabus.”

I laughed, surprised. 

“Really? Weird.”

 

“Why?”  
  
“Well, Varric called me this morning and told me his friend Solas just started teaching  
Figure here, and to say hi if I had him.”  
  
“Maker, who _doesn’t_ that dwarf know?”  
  
  


Dorian looked over my syllabus briefly before handing it to me, raising his eyebrows  
and grinning.  
 

“Check out the plan for Week 9…”  
  
  
“9 is my lucky number!”  
  
I joked before skimming to find it.

 

* * *

  

> **Advanced Figure Study  
>  ** T—TH, 1:00 p.m. — Rm. 131  
>  **Professor Solas Fenor’lin**
> 
>  
> 
> Credit Hours: 3  
>  Lecture Hours: 0  
>  Studio Hours: 6
> 
>  
> 
> ** Course Objective: **
> 
> This course is designed for the advanced student with third year standing in art that wishes  
>  to continue concentration in drawing the person-figure. Emphasis will be placed on technique,  
>  media experimentation, and personal direction.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ** Course Supplies and Media: **
> 
>   * Sketchbook— **Exclusive Use** for this class
>   * 18" X 24" 400 series pad of good drawing paper
>   * 18" x 24" newsprint pad (100 sheet or 250 sheet pads)
>   * A variety of drawing paper
>   * Conte sticks or pencils
>   * Watercolors or acrylics
>   * Pen and ink
>   * Other materials may be permitted
> 

> 
>   
>  **Course Outline:** Advanced students are required to keep a sketchbook for extra drawings outside of class.  
>  The advanced students have more freedom with choice of materials and media and direction. They are expected  
>  to build on their experience and develop advanced level techniques.
> 
>   
>  Wk 1:              Advanced proportion application to drawing model.  
>  Wk 2:              Advanced muscle drawings, functions, identification from model.  
>  Wk 3:              Advanced use of line gesture, pure contour, modified contour drawing in pencil  
>  Wk 4:              Advanced simplification of the human figure with cubes, eye level.  
>  Wk 5:              Advanced use of circles and ellipses in person-form. Emphasis on line variety and quality.  
>  Wk 6:              Advanced use of triangular forms in people figures. Combination of cubes, circles, and triangles.  
>  Wk 7:              Advanced use of exaggerations, over dramatization.  
>  Wk 8:              Individual conferences-- strengths and weaknesses.  
>  Wk 9:              Advanced composition study. Dominance and subordination.  
>  Wk 10:            Advanced use of contour and value combinations.  
>  Wk 11:            Advanced exploration of negative space.  
>  Wk 12:            Advanced proportions of figure at different ages.  
>  Wk 13:            Advanced finishing techniques.  
>  Wk 14:            Multi-figure composition emphasizing subordination, focal point, and overall design.  
>  Wk 15:            Media choice.  
>  Wk 16:            Final Exam.
> 
>  
> 
> **Procedures/Policies:** This course meets two days a week for 16 weeks. Each class session is a two-hour studio.  
>  The studio will be used for class critiques, demonstrations, and laboratory experience. Doors will be kept  
>  closed/locked during model session. Students are NOT allowed to enter once session has begun. Students can  
>  enter during break-time. Professionalism MUST be maintained at all times. Students can be removed any time  
>  from any session at the discretion of the instructor.

 

* * *

 

“Advanced composition study….Dominance and subordination?”  
  
“Kinky!”  
  
I laughed as Dorian wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
“This could be fun…or _horrific_.”  
  
“Let’s go find Bull and get lunch?”  
  
He stood and offered his arm to me, which I ignored, gesturing for him to turn away from me.  
  
“Is there something on my shirt?”  
  
  
“Nope. Brace yourself.”

  
“Wh—Oof!”

  
I took a running leap and looped my arms around his neck, and Dorian laughed as he hooked  
his arms under my thighs and hoisted me up higher.

  
“Next time, just ask for a piggyback ride!”

  
“If I warn you, you might say something about your old back or call me fat or something….”

  
“True. I _do_ lie when I’m feeling lazy.”

 

He bounced down the stairs, filling the stairwell with our laughter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Orlesian (French):**  
>  Je connais: I know  
> Mignon visage: Cute/sweet face  
> À notre appartement: At our apartment  
> Garantir pour: See to it that  
> Notre petite artiste: Our little artist  
> Est pris de bons soins: Is taken in good care/taken care of  
> Oui: Yes  
> Certainement: Most certainly  
>   
>  **Elvhen:**  
>  Amelan: Keeper
> 
>  
> 
>  **ALL my love to**  
> [ **Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), [**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose), **juliaxsnyder, and everyone else**  
>  who has shown their support and enthusiasm for my first AU attempt.  
>  **You are _mes petits chéris_ <3 xoxoxox**


	6. Unapproved Absences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naele catches up with Dalish,  
> Has a pleasant lunch with Dori-Bull,  
> and then Freaks. the Fuck. Out.
> 
> Because:  
> Professor Solas "Fen" Fenor’lin.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> Muah! <3
> 
>  
> 
> **Song Mentioned:**   
>    
>  [Howl by F&tM](https://play.spotify.com/track/3GS8qG28p2RF6M7S5rFdx5)   
> 

 

Dorian walked across campus to the Rec. & Gym, carrying me piggyback style the whole way. We found Bull on the indoor field with The Chargers, scaring the new players while his starters stood behind him, looking menacing.  
  
“No, Shace, only _idiots_ from _Ansburg_ call it “Soccer”. It’s **foot-ball**.”

 

As soon as I made eye contact with Dalish, she broke mien and ran at us. I jumped off Dorian’s back and ran right into her spinning hug. Even though we were both clan elves, I was only about eye-level with her nose. I looked up into her beautiful face, loving how her bright green Vallaslin brought out her blue eyes, and how rough ‘n’ tumble—yet still feminine—she was.  
  
“Naele! Fendhis, when did you get here? Are you taking classes again?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve only got 9 credits left to go, so. And I just got here yesterday. Dori-Bull is letting me stay with them.”  
  
I winked and nudged Dorian who sighed and rolled his eyes. They _hated_ when I called them that, as if they were one person.

 

“Well, _Glien_ , when you score 9 goals in one game, in the rain, with a broken tail-bone, _you_ can walk away _with_ Dalish when I’m talking, too. But until then, **Shut up**. _Vashedan,_ you idiots need new names already. Skinner, I’m leaving that up to you and Dalish, here.”

 

Bull finished yelling at his greenies, and walked over to us, his expression changing instantly into a grin.  
  
“Lunch?”

 

* * *

  

I waved goodbye to Dorian and Bull as I walked away from our little picnic in what they called  
“The Green”: a large, neatly kept field in the middle of campus. It was only 12:30, but I figured I’d  
rather be early than late, considering the Policies listed on the syllabus. Plus, I had to run back up  
to Dorian’s office and get my rucksack and sketchbook. I had debated on whether or not to lug in  
my large drawing pad, but decided against it when I considered the walk to Uni—and what if we didn’t  
even use it today? —I’d just end up looking and feeling stupid.

I ran up the flights of stairs and grabbed my stuff, before walking back down as I checked my phone.

 

 

> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(117)335-3669  
>  ¡ **Seraaa** ¡
> 
> 12:07 p.m. **»** Havin fun yet???
> 
>  
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(117)335-3669  
>  ¡ **Seraaa** ¡
> 
> Actually, yeah! **«** 12:32 p.m.
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(117)335-3669  
>  ¡ **Seraaa** ¡
> 
> 12:33 p.m. **»** Pffft U wuld. Nerrrd.
> 
>  
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(117)335-3669  
>  ¡ **Seraaa** ¡  
>    
>  xP” **«** 12:34 p.m.

 

I laughed aloud to myself before sliding in my headphones, walking back across the square to the  
studio building. The music playing in Dorian’s office had put me in the mood for some more F&tM,  
so I put on _Howl_ and tested the door of room 131. It had a keypad lock, but there was a doorstopper  
wedged in just enough to leave the door cracked and the room accessible. There was no one else in the  
room yet, so I made myself comfortable.

  
There were a few standing easels and stools, a bunch of those horse bench easels that I _hate_ , and a couple  
of floor cushions, all arranged in a circle around the model platform. I, of course, chose one of the cozy  
cushions, right next to the ever-open windows. I pulled out my Conte crayons and gum eraser, and flipped  
open my sketchbook. I was just doodling general outlines of various races and genders, smudging and  
smearing occasionally for shadows and erasing for highlights; mindlessly humming along to the song when  
I saw someone had walked in and was approaching me. I looked up and—

 

**“ _You?_ ”**

  
  
It was **him**.

  
**Fen**. Standing in front of me.

 

His expression was mostly blank, only the slightest hint of a furrow of confusion between his brows. He stood  
like he had the first time I saw him: hands clasped behind his back, spine straight. His perfect, dark-auburn  
dreadlocks were pulled back, knotted into themselves low on his neck and trailing between his shoulder blades.  
He was in black jeans and a white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands were covered in  
smears of the charcoal dust that blackened the pads of his fingertips. He even had a smudge on his sharp  
cheekbone. He moved his perfect mouth, and realizing, I pulled out my earphones.  
  
  
  
“Pardon?”  
 

“Are you in this class?”  
 

“Y-yes?”  
  
  
“At 1?”

 

I nodded, my eyes wide. Did he have this class, too? What in the name of Fen’Harel—

 

“Oh, you’re the first then. Good.”  
  
  
He handed me a syllabus, and it hit me.

 

_Solas Fenor’lin. Solas. **Fen.**_

 

If I had been anyone else—a normal, sane person—I would’ve torn into him.  
What the fuck was that bike ride about? Why hadn’t he ever texted me back?  
 

**WHO IN _ANBANAL_ DOES SHIT LIKE THAT, AND THEN DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE**  
**_DECENCY_ TO REMEMBER MY FACE?**  
 

But I am not a normal, sane person. So I scrambled to gather my things, shoving them into my  
rucksack haphazardly, and stood, heading for the door.

  
  
“Wait—”  
  
  
“Sorry, I—I have to go—”  
 

But he moved to block me, putting his hand on the wall and his body between my exit and me.

“What’s wrong?”

  
“Nothing! N-nothing.”

  
“Then you can stay for class.”  
  
  
“I…”

 

He took a step towards me, looking me dead in the face; his stupid, beautiful storm-grey eyes, boring  
into me. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t _breathe_. I was about to have a full-blown panic attack. I ducked around  
him quickly and bolted out of the door, only managing to make it a few doors down the covered walkway  
before I felt the anxiety begin to well up. I dug around in my bag desperately, finding the box of stale  
cigarettes, and managed fumble one into my mouth. I looked down again, trying to find a lighter before I  
started hyperventilating, when a small flame appeared, lighting my cigarette.

 

“Smoking is bad for you, Naele.”

 

_He followed me. Because, of course he did._

 

“I don’t smoke, _Solas_.”   
 

I hissed his name, but I didn’t look up at him. I refused. If I looked at him now,  
this cigarette would be pointless.

 

“Except for when in stressful situations.”

 

  
I could hear the smile in his voice, and for a moment, I thought I would snap. I took a long  
drag off of the cigarette before looked at him. He was leaning against the wall next to me,  
so blasé; like this was some shit he did all the time.  
  
  
_It probably is, you idiot girl._

 

“ _Yeah_ , except then.”  
  


I exhaled the smoke into his face.  
  
It was the single-most ballsy move of my life.  
And he didn’t so much as blink.

_  
Fenedhis lasa!_

  
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and started to walk away, but then I remembered something.

   
“Oh, by the way: Varric says hi.”

 

I turned, but before I could take two steps—

 

“ ** _Inhaelen_.** ”

 

So I stopped. And then I turned.

 

Because: **_my name_** on _**his lips**_ —in _**his** honeyed mahogany **voice**_.

 

“Don’t go, okay? We’ll talk after class; I’ll buy you coffee and you can hear me out.”  
  
  
Though his tone might’ve implied I had a choice, it wasn’t a request. I took another long drag  
to distract myself from the pounding of my heart in my ears.  
  
  
“Plus,”  
  
He smiled mischievously…  
  
“You’re only allowed two unapproved absences before your grade drops a letter.”

 

 

He turned and walked back to his class….  
  
And I followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Qunlat:**  
>  Vashedan: Crap (literally "refuse" or "trash."); A common profanity.
> 
> **Elvhen:**  
>  Anbanal: Hell, Void, Nothingness  
> Fenedhis lasa: Roughly trans. “Go suck a wolf cock”.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope this was as fun for you to read  
> as it was for me to write!
> 
> **As usual: my love to**  
> [ **BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose), [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), **and juliaxsnyder.**  
>  I love the rest of you too, of course...(But they're special).  
> <3xoxoxoxo<3  
> 


	7. Howl (or: Advanced Figure Study)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Advanced Figure Study, and  
> coffee with Fen...erm...Solas.
> 
> Also, I sketched a picture of Solas  
> with dreadlocks for [dragonlady](http://archiveofourown.org/users/katelaine9109/pseuds/dragonlady)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> Things will escalate soon, promise!!  
> Muah!!! <3 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Songs Mentioned:  
> [Bedroom Hymns by F&tM](https://play.spotify.com/track/5xJt5bwhmypiqHRVDjPGYH)  
> [Young God by Halsey](https://play.spotify.com/track/5x2XIAdvFxWCwIOMNkbWUj)

  
  
He held the door open for me, and I saw that there were only about 8 other students.   
A human female model was leaning against, what I assumed was, Fen’s desk.  
 

“What were you listening to? What you were humming earlier?”  
  
  
He caught me off guard, again.  
  
  
“Oh, um….”  
 

I pulled out my phone and handed it to him my phone—luckily it was still open to Spotify.

  
“Do you mind if I use your phone to play music while we draw?”

  
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

 

  
“Okay people, come up and grab a syllabus, a sheet of 18”x24” paper, and— _if_ you didn’t  
bring your own—the drawing media of your choice. Okay, Belle, you can go get ready now.”  
  
  
The woman nodded before heading into the small bathroom just inside the door to the  
room, and I walked over to grab a couple sheets of paper and a sketch-board before returning  
to my cushion (which luckily no one had touched). A male elf was on the horse bench easel to  
my left, and no one sat on my left for a good three of four easels.

  
“Okay, I’m your professor, Solas Fenor’lin. You can call me Solas. You’re in Advanced Figure Study,  
so you should know the etiquette by now. In the case that you don’t: here are the rules. You do  
not talk, gesture, or otherwise try to communicate with the model while they are posing. We will  
have Qunari, Elvhen, Human, and Dwarf models; both male and female. If they indicate—or I feel or  
observe—that you are in any way harassing, bothering, or making a model uncomfortable, you will  
be removed from the class. If it happens more than once, you will be dropped from the class.”  
  
  
He paced back and forth in front of his desk as he spoke: distractingly (and infuriatingly) attractive.

 

“You have two unauthorized absences before your grade drops a letter. Any more than 5, and you  
receive a failing grade. Unauthorized means that you have a note from either a healer, a Dean, a  
coach, or you have contacted me via email to notify me—before the next class—that a relative or loved one  
has passed away. My email is on your syllabus, at the bottom of the page: _profsolasfenorlin@uoforlais.edu_.  
Each class is two hours long, so we’ll occasionally take a break during long or strenuous poses for the model,  
and a 15 minute break after the first hour, so you can smoke or use the facilities or call your Nana—whatever  
you need to do.”  
 

He had flicked his wrist dismissively at the last sentence. The model, Belle, emerged from the bathroom in a  
robe, and Fen…erm…Solas asked her if she needed anything, to which she shook her head. Then, like an asshole,  
gestured, so everyone looked at me briefly.  
  
  
“Today, Naele has been kind enough to let listen to her playlist. I’m going to play music every session while we  
draw. I will usually bring my own, but you are more than welcome to offer suggestions; if I approve, we’ll listen  
to it. Everybody ready? Okay. Go.”

  
Belle climbed onto the platform and Solas took a seat, scrolling briefly through my playlist before hitting play.  
Since my playlist was still set on F&tM, _Bedroom Hymns_ came through the stereo on his desk. He set a timer   
and Belle did three one-minute poses, and two three-minute poses. The point of these brief poses was to   
show your basic line-work, the fluidity of the model’s form: not focusing too much on detail.  
  
  
Fe—Solas then gave Belle a brief break, walking around to each student’s easel (or, in my case, board), giving quiet  
critiques or comments. When he got to me, he crouched down to better see.

 

“Very good. You need to work on alternating the thickness and thinness in each line, but, overall, well done. What  
was the name of the song you were humming when I first came in?”

  
“ _Howl_. It’s under the Two Lungs section of the playlist.”

 

  
He nodded and stood back up, moving on to the next student. After handing everyone a new sheet of paper, he had  
Belle in a reclined pose, hit play, and told us to go ahead.  
  
  
I started on my sketch, but I was more focused on the song playing; singing along in my head. 

                      _If you could only see the beast you've made of me, I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_

I started with her general shape; her back to me, her petite hips and long legs were most prominent.

_Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart, Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

Her face was not-quite profile, as only her eyelashes, cheekbone, ear, and jawline were visible, so that was quick.

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in…you are the moon that breaks the night  
                     for which I have to hoooowl_

Belle’s arm was bent at the elbow, and her hand was placed on her lower back, so I took a moment to outline her  
fingers before moving on; I would come back to it. 

_The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound; I hunt for you with bloody feet across the  
                     hallowed ground_  

The curve of her hips into her ass was—as with all female figures I’ve sketched—the most natural and easy aspect.

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers; starts so soft and sweet but turns them to hunters_

Her feet were tucked under and behind her—facing me—so I did my best to capture the winkles on the sole of her foot.

_The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress; until I wrap myself inside your arms, I cannot rest_

Her legs were so long, I kept erasing and re-drawing, trying to make the proportions look right.

 

_A man who's pure of heart, and says his prayers by night,  
                     may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_  

  
“You know you’re singing out loud, right?”

I looked up, startled, at the elf next to me. His hair was white, and his eyes were jade. He was only a  
couple of years older than I. He had pale blue tattoos (Lyrium, maybe?) across his face and arms—and,  
I was guessing, the rest of his body. My glance flickered to Fen/Solas, (who appeared to have just  
looked away, but probably not; I am terribly paranoid) smiling slightly to himself and working on his  
own sketch of the model. I looked back to the guy beside me, matching his low tone.

“For how long and how loudly?”  
 

“Only the last bit, about the pure of heart and autumn moon. And you were only whispering it.  
But you looked like you had completely zoned out.”  
  
  
“Apparently I had. Thank you. If you see me do it again, _please_ , stop me.”

“Will do. I’m Fenris.”

“Naele.”  
  
  
“I heard. Already the teacher’s pet.”

  
He turned back to his drawing before the corners of his mouth curved up.

 

_Well, it looks like “Solas” was going to ruin every experience talking to a cute guy from here on out.  
Faaaaantastic._

  
  
I turned back to my own sketch; filling in anything I hadn’t shaded dark enough, smudging in shadows  
I had missed here and there. I went back and finished the detail on Belle’s hand, trying to mimic the arching  
of her wrist and the wrinkles on her knuckles. She had the loveliest fingernails, perfectly manicured, but all  
natural.  
  
Solas walked up to Belle, speaking to her lowly, and handing her the robe.

 

“Okay, people. You are dismissed. Please return any borrowed pencils, brushes, Conte crayons, etc. Oh,  
and please leave both pages of your drawings on my desk.”  
 

Fenris stood up and smiled at me...kind of. It looked a bit more like a grimace; as if he wasn’t used to smiling. 

“See you next week, Pet.”

 

I gave him my embarrassed, purse-lipped smile in return.

“Bye.”

I slowly gathered up my stuff as Belle returned to the bathroom to re-dress, and the last of my fellow  
students left. My stomach was flipping over itself as I finally stood and walked to Fe— ** _Solas_** ’s desk, placing  
my sketches onto of the other students’.  
  
  
“Hey.”  
  
  
His voice was gentle, and he was smiling politely at me.

  
“Wait just a second, alright?”

 

I nodded, and the model returned from the bathroom.  
  
“Thank you, Belle. You did wonderfully. Your check is in the Faculty office with the receptionist. Was  
everything okay?”  
  
  
“Oui, monsieur.”  
 

She curtsied slightly before leaving.

 

He turned back to me, then. The full force of his gaze was almost suffocating, but he didn’t even  
seem to realize how beautiful he was. He tugged his dreads out of their loose knot as he spoke.  
 

“Okay, are you ready?” Oh, and here’s your phone. Thanks for the music. I like that song.”  
  
  
“Which one?”  
  
  
“ _Howl_. And _Bedroom Hymns._ And the rest of them, honestly.”

 

I nodded and followed him out of the room; he flipped the lights off, kicked the doorstopper  
inside and shut the door tightly.

 

“By the way, the code to this room is 62533.”

  
I hesitated for a second, patting my pockets before starting for my bag, meaning to write it  
down—but once again Fen took my hand, writing the code on it.  
  
  
“Thanks.”  
 

Solas/Fen walked with his hands in his pockets, and I tried to keep up as I texted Dorian that  
I’d meet him back at his office before he got off.

 

* * *

   
  
Folas/Sen (I was starting to mess myself up trying to figure out what I was supposed to call  
him) sat down facing me in the cozy booth, across the street from the Arts buildings, and slid  
over my small cup of espresso con panna. He didn’t have a drink in front of him.

 

“I hope you don’t mind: this place is a lot closer than the campus coffee shop—and there’s a  
lesser chance that students will think I’m “cool” and want to go get coffee with me.”

I took a sip of my espresso before answering, looking at him as little as possible.

  
“As long as I’m not embarrassing you.”

   
“Should I be embarrassed, da’len?”

   
“I don’t know, should my motorcycle-riding professor taking me driving through a hurricane  
and then, months later, buy me coffee?”  
  
_When did I get so confident? Who was talking right now? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not me._

 

“Technically, neither of those are against policy.”  
 

I shook my head running my fingers over the abstract print of the tabletop.

 

“What do I call you now, anyway? Solas? Fen? Professor?”  
  
“Just Fen. Unless we’re in class. Solas is more professional-sounding.”

 

He grinned at me, but I didn't look at him; I just kept tracing the white-noise pattern on the  
table in-between sips.

 

“Okay, Naele, look.”  
  
  
And I did. I looked him in the face, allowing myself for the first time to study his features  
in the light of day. He had a small, circular scar above his left brow, the freckles that dotted  
his face were less sparse than I had thought. His eyes actually had a twinge of baby-blue  
right next to his pupils. In the light, his hair was slightly more red, and the dimple in his  
chin actually kinda made him cuter.

 

“I’m sorry. I lost…a very close friend. I kind of had a breakdown. I mean, I actually threw  
my old phone off a cliff into the sea.”  
  
  
“Oh…” 

Now I felt like an ass.

“It’s not really an excuse. But it’s the truth.”

 

“What was your friend’s name?”  
  
  
“Prudence.”

  
I nodded and offered my condolences. He just stared out the window for a long time, not  
speaking, so slipped one of my earphones back in and changed my playlist. He looked back  
at me, and, not missing a beat, grabbed the other headphone and stuck it into his own ear.  
I looked over at him and saw him smiling to himself, nodding his head in beat to the song. It  
was nearly painful how gorgeous he was.  
  
  
“What is this song?”  
  
  
I slid my phone over to him so he could read the screen. He smiled at me before shaking his  
head slightly.  
 

“ _Young God_ , huh? I like it.”

“Halsey is a genius.”  
 

I shrugged, looking away again, flushing with humiliation.  
  
_I’m gonna go have my tongue removed when I leave…._

 

“You have excellent taste in music.”

 

I flushed deeper. I could feel the heat radiating off of my face. I must have looked like a raspberry.  
I checked my phone. **4:10 p.m.** Still plenty of time.

 

“Am I boring you?”

  
“What? No. I just….”  
  
  
“Just…?”

 

  
“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know why I was upset with you to begin with. And now  
you’re my teacher—or, professor, rather—and I just….”

He reached over and grabbed the hand that was on my phone still. Once again, he pulled out a  
marker, and re-wrote his number on my hand, underneath the code to the classroom door. Then  
he stood up, standing at the edge of the table, and looked down at me.  
  
  
  
“I kept hoping you’d text me again, when I got a new phone. But it was a long-shot. So, if you  
change your mind....”  
  
 

He kissed my cheek and, once again,  
  
left me alone.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orleasian (French):  
> Oui, monsieur: Yes, sir./ Yes, mister.
> 
> Elvhen:  
> Fen: Wolf  
> Da'len: Little one
> 
>  
> 
> xoxoxox <3


	8. Wait for Me (I'll be Coming)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with the besties,  
> Coffee date with Cullen,  
> and Warm Blood.
> 
> Not quite sure how to describe this one.  
> Kinda fluffy? Mostly awkward.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> You complete me <3 Muah!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (links) Songs Mentioned:   
>  [Arrow by Tegan & Sara](https://play.spotify.com/track/13Xfc8nFunPRvJGQCnKVl1)   
>  [Warm Blood by Flor](https://play.spotify.com/track/5VAywkRNpapEnzHsSwZddq)

 

* * *

 

 

> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> Here. Lose my number, and you won’t get it again. **«** 4:06 a.m. Friday, 1/20  
>    
>    
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> Friday, 1/20 4:13 a.m. **»** Ma nuvenin, Rogathe'ain.

  

* * *

 

It was Saturday morning, and I was in Dorian’s bed; leaning against him, as he read a book with  
one hand, his other arm over my shoulder as I traced the complex of ink pressed into his skin.  
Bull was in the kitchen, making breakfast and singing unintelligibly. I had spent my first day of  
work at Vivienne’s private museum yesterday, but it had been even less busy than the Temple,  
so I had spent most of the day texting Leliana and Sera.  
  
I felt my phone vibrate, and lazily reached over to grab it.  
  
  
“Who’s that?” Dorian asked, not looking up.

 

 

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(266)836-7527  
>  ** ? **Unknown** ?  
> 
> 
> 9:42 a.m. **»**    Naele? It’s Cullen. Varric gave me your number.  
>  I’m in Val Royeaux and wanted to know if you were  
>  free to get some coffee at some point today?

 

“It’s Cullen….”  
  
  
I had completely forgotten about Varric asking if he could give Cullen my number.  
I saved his contact info as Dorian excitedly sat up, peppering me with questions.  
  
  
“Cullen? Cullen Rutherford? What does he want?!”  
 

“He wants to know if I’m free to get coffee today; he’s in town.”  
  
  
“Uh, YES you’re free! What time?!”

  

 

> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** Ÿ **Cullen** Ÿ  
> 
> 
> Hey! Yeah, Varric mentioned it to me. I’m free whenever. **«** 9:45 a.m.

 

“I don’t know, yet, Dorian. Calm down. Wait, nevermind. He already responded.”

  
"Eager, isn't he?"

 

 

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(266)836-7527  
>  ** Ÿ **Cullen** Ÿ  
> 
> 
> 9:45 a.m. **»**    Great! Is 2 ok?
> 
>  
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** Ÿ **Cullen** Ÿ  
> 
> 
> Yeah, that’s perfect. **«** 9:47 a.m.
> 
>   
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(266)836-7527  
>  **Ÿ **Cullen** Ÿ  
> 
> 
> 9:45 a.m. **»**    It’s a date! I’ll meet you at Dorian’s at 2.

 

I handed Dorian the phone so he’d stop glancing over my shoulder. I sat back against the  
headboard just as Bull came in with a tray full of food, wearing a pink apron, grinning widely.  
 

“What’s up, Boss?  
 

“Bae-Nae has a _date_ …”  
  
  
“Is it really a date, though? I mean, it’s just coffee—”  
  
  
“First date is always coffee. Who with?”  
  
Bull was so matter-of-fact, setting down the tray between Dorian and me. He had made me  
blackberry crepes, my favorite.  
  
  
“Cullen Rutherford.”  
  
Dorian was crooning and Bull gave me a _Daaaamn_ look. I sighed and shoved a whole crepe  
in my mouth, shaking my head at the two of them.

 

“What are you going to wear?”  
  
  
“I dunno, Dor. Clothes, probably.”

 

I knew why I wasn’t as excited as I should have been, and I was ashamed of myself for it. Stupid  
dread-head has ruined everything. Dorian huffed and immediately got up, no doubt to go dig through  
my wardrobe. I finished my crepes and drank my glass of milk.  
  
  
“Thank you for breakfast, Bull. And for letting me move in with you guys. And for everything.”

“Don’t be silly, Boss. You’re like the little sister I never had. Except, probably much tinier and with less horns....”

 

I cracked a smile and leaned up, hugging him.  
  
  
“Just do me a single favor?”  
  
  
“Name it.”  
  
  
“When Dorian finally makes you snap, try not to kill him.”  
  
I laughed and nodded. Bull got it: Dorian was amazing, but he could be a little…pushy.  
Speaking of the Demon, he called then from the next room.

 

“I can hear you, you know!”

  

* * *

   
Cullen had knocked on Dorian’s door at 2, sharp. I honestly hadn’t bothered to dress myself up  
too much—it was hot, so I stuck with a tank-top and shorts, and threw my knotted, messy hair  
in a high ponytail. Dorian had invited Cullen into the Atrium, and they were talking about…  
something (I wasn’t paying attention), when I walked in.  
  
  
“Hey! Ready?”

 Dorian and Cullen looked at me; the former pursed his lips at the sight of my outfit, and the  
latter smiled.  
 

“Yeah. I was thinking we could go to this one café I know off the Bazaar.”  
  
  
“Sounds good.”

 

I grabbed my satchel off the hook by the door and slung it over my shoulder as I stood on my toes  
and kissed Dorian’s cheek.  
  
  
“Bye, love. Have fun.”  
  
  
Cullen insisted on driving, even though it was only a 15-minute walk or so, and he opened my door  
for me, which was…nice? But felt weird, somehow. I slipped into the cool, dark leather seat of his  
gunmetal gray, coupe sports car, and as he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, I  
realized how off all of this seemed. Cullen climbed in and turned the engine over, blasting cool AC  
and pulling out of Dorian’s driveway.

 

“So, I guess financial analysis pays pretty well?”

Cullen chuckled, but looked as embarrassed as I felt.  
  
“It _is_ too ostentatious, isn’t it? I told Vivienne, but she talked me into it, anyway.”

 

That made a little more sense.  
 

“Your company works for her?”  
 

“Yeah, but my company is just me, technically. I freelance.”  
  
  
_You can freelance financial analysis? Art, design, yeah, but math?_

 

“Oh, cool. I’m terrible at math.”  
  
_Genius. You are the ultimate conversationalist, Naela. You should be a counselor._

 

Cullen just laughed, and turned into the parking garage for the Summer Bazaar. I then realized that  
he didn’t have any music playing.  
  
“Do you always drive in silence? Like, no music?”  
 

He shrugged, as if it hadn’t occurred to him.  
  
  
“Usually, I guess, yeah. I spend a lot of time on conference calls, or just on the phone, in general.”  
  
  
I shook my head in disbelief, and he looked at me, questioningly as he pulling into a parking spot.  
  
  
“I couldn’t do it. I need music. And I don’t talk on the phone, ever. Well, if I can help it.”  
  
  
He held up a finger and got out, walking quickly around to my side to open my door for me, and  
offering me a hand out.  
  
  
_Uhh…Thanks?  
_  

“Yeah, Varric said something about your No-Call policy. What’s that about?”  
  
  
“Talking on the phone makes me extremely anxious. I hate it. I don’t even know _why_ , but it just…ugh.”  


“So, if it’s an emergency and someone calls you—”  
  
  
“If someone I know _calls_ me, it _is_ an emergency, and I answer. Or it’s Varric; and then I _sometimes_ answer.”

He laughed and shook his head, making me a little insecure as we approached the open-air café.  
  
  
“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just…unique. I like it.”  
 

I blushed a little and we approached the counter. He ordered a vanilla latte, and I ordered an espresso  
con panna and a bottle of water. I reached for my bag, but he handed the cashier—a very pretty dwarf  
whose nametag read ‘ _Lace_ **♡** ’—his card before I could grab my wallet.  
  
  
“Oh, you don’t have to—”  
  
  
“I know. I want to. Nice to see you again, Miss Harding.”  
  
  
“You too, Cullen! Who’s this?”  
  
  
“This is Naele…Lavellan?” 

He looked at me to confirm he had it right, and I nodded, thanking him.  
  
  
“Lovely to meet you, I’m Lace. Or Scout. Whichever!”  
  
  
She smiled widely and I shook her hand and grinned back. I liked her. Another employee set  
our drinks on the counter, and we thanked them before Cullen led us to a high-top table at the  
edge of the coffee shop, right next to the colonnade. The foot traffic in the Bazaar on a Saturday  
was pretty high, and I was looking forward to people-watching.  
  
  
“So, how was your first day back in school?”  
  
_Of course_ he would ask that. _Because, of course.  
_  

“Ha—It was okay. I’m looking forward to my painting class. I used to kill whole _weekends_ in the studio.  
And getting to have lunch with Dorian and Bull twice a week is going to be awesome.”  
  
  
“You can paint for that long? Don’t your eyes or back get tired?”  
  
  
“Yeah, but when I’m in The Zone—that’s what I call it; lame, I know—everything else just falls away, and  
it’s just the paint, the subject, and my brushes. I forget about everything else: food, time, stress.”  
  
  
_You’re rambling again. About something he probably cares nothing about._  
  
“Anyway, sorry. What brought you to town?”

  
He started a long story about figures and profit margins and other accounting stuff that I couldn’t follow,  
so I nodded occasionally and made the polite amount of eye contact. But, honestly, I kind of zoned out.  
I looked at his apparel: a blue button-down, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, and black slacks. _How_ was this  
man not dripping sweat? His hair was perfectly styled to look like he had just rolled out of bed, and his  
eyes were almost glowing from the sunlight, the very color of honey. I nodded again, and then decided I had  
been looking him the eye for long enough that I could look away briefly.  
  
  
  
I glanced over _just in time_ to see Fen about to pass us.

 He locked eyes with me, and his nostrils flared just slightly, as he gave me the tiniest smirk—amused.  
I managed the smallest, tight-lipped smile in return, before looking back at Cullen.  
  
  
  
“….So that was a mess. Anyway, I came to get the data I needed for the projections from the museum  
you work at.”

Thank the Creators I managed to tune back in time to answer.

“Oh, well, then you’re the only person that doesn’t work in the building to step foot in there in the past  
two days.”

My phone vibrated against the table.

  
“That slow, huh? Don’t worry, the Arts department always sends several field-trips there every semester.  
Shouldn't you get that?”  
  
  
He smiled and gestured to my phone. I thanked him and lifted it, half-knowing already who had texted me.

 

 

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>    
>  2:53 p.m. **»** Hot date?

 

I pursed my lips and typed fast.

 

 

>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> So what if it is? **«** 2:55 p.m.

 

 

**_“_ Dahn'direlan…. _”  
  
_**

“Excuse me?”  
  
  
I looked up at Cullen apologetically, smiling as genuinely as I could.  
 

“Sorry, it’s just my friend. Nothing important.”  
  
_Fen is determined to ruin all men for me.  
  
_  

“What was the word you said?”  
  
He leaned forward on his elbows, tilting his head and smiling. He really was very pretty.  
I laughed a little, embarrassed.  
 

“ _Dahn'direlan_. ‘Bee puncher’. It’s a metonymy. It means, like, idiot.”  
  
  
Cullen laughed and covered his mouth. My phone vibrated in my lap, but I ignored it.  
  
  
“I’m sorry for laughing—”  
  
  
“No, no: it’s funny!”

  
  
“Dan- _der_ -lan, _Dhan_ -dir- _elan_ , Dan-dire- _lan_ ….”  
  
He tried, and I just laughed harder.

 

“The second one was closest. Elvhen isn’t as…um…clipped? As Common is. Does that make sense?  
Like, with Elvhen, you’re lazy with your mouth; almost like slurring and mumbling, combined. I’m sorry,  
that’s a shit way to explain it—”  
 

I laughed and covered my face, starting to blush.  
 

“No, that makes sense…mostly.”  
  
  
He laughed, smiling at me apologetically.

  
“I’ve just never been good with other languages. Even Orlesian, I only know a few words, and I stopping  
even trying to say them; I just butcher them.”

  
I chucked and he excused himself, walking off to the restroom. I took the opportunity to look at my phone.

 

 

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>    
>  3:09 p.m. **»**    Just curious. Going well?
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> I’ve had worse. And better. **«** 3:16 p.m.
> 
>  
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>    
>  3:17 p.m. **»** Mediocre? Telsahngar.
> 
>  
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** § **Fen** §  
> 
> 
> Mostly just awkward. **«** 3:18 p.m.

 

I saw Cullen returning, so I returned my phone to my lap, though it vibrated straightaway. I had long-since  
finished my little double-shot, and was halfway through my water, though it was warming quickly in the  
heat. He approached quickly, looking rather flustered.  
  
  
“I’m so sorry, I just got a call from one of my clients, and I have to go. I can take you back to Dorian’s, I just  
have to leave for Val Chevin immediately.”  
  
  
“Oh! No, that’s okay; I actually would enjoy walking back.”

  
“Oh, I insist—”

  
“No, really. I promise, I need to stop and get some things while I’m out, anyway. Thank you very much for  
the coffee and water, though. It was really great to see you again.”  
  
  
He looked unsure and looked down at the ground for a second before nodding.  
  
“If you say so, Nae. And, truly, the pleasure is mine. I’m enjoying getting to know you.”  
  
  
He smiled and I hugged him; remembering as I did so that, according to Dorian, most people aren’t used to  
how “huggy” I am. He surprised me by hugging me back, though a little stiffly.

  
“Drive safe, okay?”  
  
  
“I will. I’ll text you soon…?”  
  
  
He searched my face for, I don’t know, permission, I guess?  
  
  
“Please do!”  


We shared another smile and said goodbye, and he waved to Lace as he left. I looked down at my phone again.

 

>   
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>    
>  3:19 p.m. **»**    Ahn vir?
> 
>  
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** § **Fen** §  
>    
> 
> 
> Two te'olathe'len with nothing in common, trying to converse?   **«** 3:28 p.m.

   
I put in my headphones and flipped through my playlist, picking a song.

 

 

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>    
>  3:30 p.m. **»**    Ah, but you are din te'olathe'len, Nae.
> 
>  

I rolled my eyes and slid my phone into my back pocket, gathering Cullen’s and my empty porcelain cups.  
I turned around and walked back towards the counter, to see Fen sitting alone at a small table at the entrance  
of the café. I placed the cups on the counter and thanked Lace, waving slightly, before I approached him.  
  
  
_Seriously, man? I wonder if he’s a Desire Demon, or possessed by one or something.  
  
  
_ “Are you following me or something?”  
 

He almost laughed, but he managed to strangle it down to just a smirk and a cocked eyebrow.  
  
  
“Ah, no. I come here every Saturday afternoon. I have since I moved here a month ago. Are you following me?”  
  
  
“Oh, so I can embarrass myself more? Yeah, whoops. You caught me.”  
  
  
He was struggling even harder not to laugh now; he nodded to my earphones and changed the subject.  
  
  
“What are you listening to?”  
  
  
“ _Arrow_ , by Tegan & Sara”

 

I started the song from the beginning as I offered him a headphone, and he gestured for me to sit in the  
chair next to him. While we listened, I mouthed the words to myself as I reached into my bag, pulling out  
the small spiral-bound notebook I kept with me for little notes; flipping through the pages, checking to  
see what I had meant to grab while I was at the Summer Bazaar.  
  
_Let’s see…Shoes, lightweight long-sleeved blouse, Elfroot, Ghoul’s Beard_

 

“Grocery list?”  


“Oh—Ha, yeah. I was thinking I should grab some stuff before I walk back home, but I don’t really feel like  
shopping. Especially now that I’ve thought of having to carry bags with shoes and clothes back. I’ll just grab  
the herbs and have Dorian grab the rest for me later….”  
  
  
I stopped talking, realizing I had just spoken more to him just now than I ever had before. And it was just  
_stupid_ , thinking-out-loud crap; nothing deep or memorable. I looked up at him as I felt the heat rising in my face.  
 

But he looked at me curiously, head-tilted and his fist under his chin. His eyes were wandering over my features,  
and he was smiling slightly.

  
“Why are you looking at me like that?”  
  
  
“I was thinking.”  
  
  
“About?”  
  
  
“Drawing you.”

  

I’m pretty sure I looked a bit like a fish, opening and closing my mouth over and over, but unable to force any words  
out. My mind was blank. I couldn’t think of anything _to_ say, and I seemed to forget how to hold my limbs. I pulled my  
feet up in the chair—pressing my body against my legs—before just setting them back on the ground again.  
  
Fen’s face didn’t change at all. He didn’t look amused or as if I was behaving abnormally—but I had the sense that he  
was enjoying my discomfort; that most of things he said or did around me was for the shock-value. Even this was true,  
I kind of didn’t care: I couldn’t get him out of my head, and I liked it.  
  
_You_ would _fall head over heels for a sociopath…  
  
  
__  
_ “I should go.”  
  
I stood and lifted my bag, but he gently grabbed my wrist. I looked down, and he actually looked me in the eye, brows  
furrowed in actual concern, and his voice was quiet but earnest.  
  
  
“Am I chasing you away, _Da’assan_?”  
  
  
“No, I just—”  
  
  
He released me, and the skin where his hand had been burned with a strange sort of longing.

  
“Not just now. You haven’t ever seemed comfortable around me.”  
  
  
“Should I? I thought that was your thing.”

He chuckled slightly and looked down briefly, raising his eyes again with a guilty grin.  
  
  
“I think you mean it is _your_ thing. I just play my part.”

 

I flustered silently. He had called me out.  
  
He held my earphone out to me, and as I took it, he grasped my fingers and pressed my fingertip to his lips—  
just for the length of a heartbeat. I exhaled audibly and he pulled a marker from nowhere, leaving another  
little note on my skin before releasing me.  
  
  
I looked at it. _Warm Blood by Flor_.

  
“Listen to it, please. Have a good night, Naele.”  
  
  
I nodded and smiled at him gently and I walked away.

   
  
I stopped by the Apothecary, bought my Elfroot and Ghoul’s Beard, and started for home. Sunset was a-ways off  
still, but the sky seemed the most glorious shade of orange. I searched for the song, finding it and pressing play.  
  
  
_Your shoulder—Bare and staring me down now  
__And I'm older—But don't mean I can't learn your ways  
_  

Listening to Fen’s song, I felt a sudden thrill—the air seemed easier to breathe, and the world around me looked  
more vivid. I caught myself smiling, and I laughed aloud at my girlishness.  
 

_Wait for me, I'll be coming slower down_

_  
Wait for me, I'll be coming…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma nuvenin: As you say/wish  
> Rogathe'ain: Little Daring one  
> Dahn'direlan: Idiot, moron (lit. bee-puncher, one who punches bees)  
> Telsahngar: Unfortunate  
> Ahn’vir: In what way/how so (lit. what way)  
> Te'olathe'len: Foolish people with no social skills  
> Din: No, not, isn’t, aren’t  
> Da’assan: Little Arrow
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
> **Also, a lil extra love to:**
> 
> **juliaxsnyder,** [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), [**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose), and my newest adopted little darling:  
> [ **WritingIllusions**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIllusions/pseuds/WritingIllusions)
> 
> <3xoxoxox<3


	9. Surprising Little Secrets pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naele finally gets a one-up on Solas.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Muah!! <3

> * * *
> 
> **  
>   
> Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  2:41 a.m. **»**    Tell me about yourself.  
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> What do you want to know? **«** 2:44 a.m.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  2:47 a.m. **»** Where are you from?  
>   
> 
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  My Clan usually roamed the Free Marches, **«** 2:50 a.m.  
> but we left them when I was small. I grew up in Crestwood.  
>   
>  
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  2:51 a.m. **»**    You are Dalish?  
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> Technically. **«** 2:53 a.m.
> 
> **  
>   
>  Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  2:59 a.m. **»**    Hmm.  
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> Allergic to Halla, huh? **«** 3:03 a.m.
> 
>   
>   
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:07 a.m. **»**    Not as such, no. I have merely spent enough  
>  time with the Dalish to have formed an opinion on them.  
>    
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> No doubt a negative one. No need to preach to the choir. **«** 3:10 a.m.
> 
>   
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:11 a.m. **»**    A Chantry metaphor? Are you Andrastian?  
>  It explains your lack of Vallaslin, though.  
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> No. I’m not sure I have a religion. I just like the metaphor. **«** 3:13 a.m.
> 
>   
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:15 a.m. **»**    You are a strange one, Fox Eyes.
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> Your name is PRIDE. Grid lahnal’bana grid. **«** 3:17 a.m.  
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:18 a.m. **»**    Touché, da’len.
> 
>   
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> Anyway, isn’t it past your bedtime, Hahren? **«** 3:19 a.m.
> 
>   
>   
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:21 a.m. **»**    I cannot decide which side of you I prefer   
>  more: fiery or submissive. Ga'ta ir palasha.  
>   
> 
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> At least I’M not a shameless flirt. **«** 3:26 a.m.
> 
>   
>    
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:29 a.m. **»**    Mostly because you do not know how to flirt.  
>  It’s artless; you are not even aware when you do it.
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §
> 
> Ma shila siugen. On’nydha, Hahren.   **«** 3:34 a.m.
> 
>   
>  **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>   
>  3:35 a.m. **»**    On’nydha, hale’udh.  
>    
>   
> 

* * *

 

Of course, Sunday morning, I spilled my guts to Dorian and Bull. I made them swear on their lives that they wouldn’t   
breathe a word about it, beforehand, but I told them everything. I even let Dorian read the texts, translating the Elvhen   
for him out-loud—blushing all the while. He couldn’t decide whether he was mad at me for not telling him sooner, or   
too thrilled by the intrigue to be upset.   
  
  
“I’ll tell you one thing, Boss. He is _smooth_.”  


Bull was making us brunch, and he handed me a mimosa. Okay, technically it was just champagne, because I don’t like   
to water-down my alcohol—but at brunch, it was a Mimosa.

  
“Ugh, I know. And I am—”  
  
  
“Decidedly not. The smoothest thing you said to him was that bit about spitting sugar. And then you just ended   
it. That could’ve turned into sexting so quickly!”  
  
  
“Dorian, I don’t even know what’s going on in his head.”  
  
  
“I’ll tell you, but you’re going to do that thing where you get all agitated and red.”

   
“I don’t mean _that_. I mean, I don’t know what I mean. After Josie….”

 

We all fell silent for a minute. _Yeah._

 

“Boss, don’t you deserve to have some fun finally? I mean, are you _looking_ for something serious?”  
  
  
“No, not really. This whole Masters thing was supposed to be me getting back to being me.”  
  
  
“Well, then, why don’t you just have fun? And if it starts to get serious—well, you can cross that bridge if   
and when you come to it.”  
  
  
Dorian looked at his Amatus like he had fallen in love with him all over again. It _was_ damn good advice. Fen   
just made it so hard to think; all my thoughts and feelings and desires all blurred together. I sighed and   
dropped my forehead against the Lazurite bar top. It hurt, I’d probably have a bruise now, but the cool alloy  
felt good on my skin.

 

“My little dove, how about we go do a little shopping, get you some clothes, and take your mind off it   
all for awhile.”  
  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
  
“I’m going to go shower. I’ll be back before breakfast gets cold, I promise.”  
  
I assumed the comment was addressed to Bull, who undoubtedly frowned at the thought of Dorian letting   
his food get cold.

 

“You okay, Boss?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Hey, can I ask you something?”  
  
I lifted my head, and looked at him: so giant in his pink apron.  
  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
  
“Why do you call me ‘Boss’?”  
  
  
He laughed, booming and loud, grinning widely.  
  
“I guess I never explained it, huh? I don’t know. Since I met you, you’ve been this tiny, sweet, delicate little   
thing—but you somehow always manage to get people to see things your way. You run your own little show.   
You’re not Boss like _Bossy_. You’re Boss like, _Team Captain_.”  
  
  
“I’d have thought that’d be Dorian.”

 

“Everyone would. But you’re the ‘woman behind the man’, you know? It’s like, everything he does, is because of you—in one way or another.”  
 

I thought about this, my lower lip stuck out.  
  
“So, I’m manipulative? Cause, I don’t want to be that person. Especially not to Dorian—he’s given me so much.”  
  
  
“No, not manipulative; compelling or inspiring, maybe.”

 

I laughed hard at that, striking a pose like the statue of that Chevalier, Ser Michel Lafaille, that was in the   
park down the street: one fist on my hip, the other fist over my heart, looking like a War Hero. Bull laughed   
too, shaking his head, and setting my French Toast Almondine in front of me.  
  
“Okay, maybe those aren’t the words either. Do you want some more champagne?”  
  
  
“No, thank you. I’ll just get sleepy again. I’ll make myself an espresso.”  
  
  
“I’ll make it. You eat. Cream?”  
  
  
“A little, yes. No sugar.”  
  
  
“Yeah, if you need it sweeter, just dip your breakfast in it. I don’t know how you can eat only sweets and coffee and survive.”  
  
  
“Hey! I drink water and alcohol, too!”

 

“Oh, yeah. No, you’re right, that rounds out your diet pretty well.”  
  
He nodded, jokingly conceding. I smiled widely at him.

 

“Bull, I fuckin’ love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian had me wear a sundress and sandals, which I wasn’t all that comfortable with. I am not a graceful person,  
nor do I have the best luck: so naturally, anything that could possibly go wrong—like tripping or a timely gust of  
wind showing the entire Summer Bazaar my goods—probably would. But _c'est la vie_ , right? I just followed Dorian’s  
advice and wore some pretty-yet-not-too-revealing smalls and sent up a prayer to any god that might exist   
and/or listen.  
  
The Bazaar was only slightly less busy than yesterday, and there were so many people wearing those damn masks.   
I hated those things. I had a hard enough time talking to strangers to begin with. Add in the fact that their faces,   
more specifically, _their eyes_ were partially obscured, and it threw my ability to read situations and people way off.   
Val Royeaux was _not_ the home of my comfort zone.  
  
Dorian held up various shirts to me as we stood in a shoppe; the woman behind the counter looked from Dorian to   
me, probably wondering where this beautiful, stylish man picked up the knife-ear street urchin. Even though the   
University of Orlais had been officially integrated, the alienages were still packed with city elves, and a lot of humans  
still weren’t interested in having _my kind_ in their shops. Dorian was really the only reason I wasn’t asked to leave   
a lot of places. 

  
“Do you like the blue or the yellow better?”  
  
  
“Neither. You know I prefer black. Or beige. Or grey. Oh, and sometimes off-white, like cream or ivory.”  
  
  
He sighed and rolled his eyes.   
  
“Well, what about red? Or green.”  
  
  
“I love red. But it draws the eye, and I’m not interested in having more people look at me. And I’m okay   
with dark or olive greens.”  


“Dark red, then? Burgundy or Garnet?”  
  
  
“I guess? But probably only occasionally.”  
  
  
“Okay, earthy palette then. I can work with that.”  
  
  


We mostly just ended up buying me a lot more black. He bought be several pairs of slippers, because I   
refused to wear heels unless he was taking me to a gala. He did get me one fern-green button-down tank  
top/blouse that made the green in my eyes stand out. I begrudgingly admitted that I loved it. Done with   
clothes and shoes, we headed down to a bistro for a late lunch before heading home.

* * *

 

 

I got to work on Monday, and immediately bored. I wore the green blouse Dorian had picked out; the nice   
thing about Orlais is that tattoos were so common that you could work anywhere and didn’t have to worry   
about hiding them. Even Vivienne had a gold Phoenix winding up the length of one of her arms. Thankfully,   
though, she wasn’t here; it was still the busy season in Haven. So, with no one caring what I did, I grabbed my   
sketchbook and headed off into the halls.

  
Vivienne had acquired the infamously scandalous Invisible Statue of Andraste in Nude Repose, under some   
very questionable circumstances, and, since this was a private gallery, was allowed to display it. It was, in   
fact, invisible. The only thing that marked that its pedestal was not empty was a single plaque.

>  
> 
> _Can stone lie with purpose? Can it beckon with raw feminine command, yet shine with an inspiring virtue? That challenge was posed to sculptor Arwand de Glace, artisan and son of Empress Vougiene of Orlais. It was busywork and rhetoric in a time of excess, but answer he did—with the reserves of a nation and a passion unhealthy. His subject? Our Lady, though not as depicted in traditional statuary._
> 
> _Arwand's mad ambition summoned the form of Andraste uninterrupted by the trappings of war and devoid of the vestments she assumed after death. It was living, commanding, obscene, yet inspired. To gaze upon it was to be enthralled, spiritually and physically. It was the latter that alarmed Chantry officials. They blanched at the thought of Our Lady being possessed of such a base appeal, even as they, too, were drawn._
> 
> _The work could not be destroyed without threatening the balance between empire and hallowed, so a grave censorship was enacted under the guise of honoring. Enchanters were tasked with extending the ethereal that hides the Fade, drawing it around the form like a cloak. Our Lady remains in the stone and in this world, but mortal eyes are forever denied her treasure and glory. She is veiled in every sense._
> 
> _As in all things, unintended consequences must vex those with pure intentions. Modesty would have been better served by a thickened sheet, drawn back when techniques were to be studied. As it is, the sculptor's skills are accessible only to an exploring touch, defining the shape by intimate caress. All manner of strange congress has stemmed from tempted hands and the innocent wish for clarity._
> 
> _—From Art and Shame: Forbidden Wonders of Faith by Foisine de Petitforet_

But Vivienne had told me a secret: the veil of void that surrounded the figure was so thin in one spot, that  
if you sat on a particular bench, near the wall, you could make out the profile of the statue. I sat on the   
bench and began my sketch. It was technically heresy, but no one would ever see it, and I was in here alone.

 I sat and drew until I was almost satisfied enough to let it be, when a familiar voice murmured in my ear.  
  
  
“Dangerous subject to choose.”  
  
I turned with a start, slamming my sketchbook shut. Fen was standing behind me, between the bench   
and the wall, hands in his pockets and a wolfish grin on his face.

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re not following me?”  
 

“Not intentionally. You just happen to already be wherever I go.”  
  
He slid onto the bench beside me, straddling it to face me. I could feel my pulse in my throat.  
  
  
“So, is this what you do when you’re not in class? Come sketch at a museum?”  
  
  
“I work here, actually.”  
  
  
“For Vivienne? Lucky you.”  
  
His voice was thick with sarcasm, and he was still grinning mischievously as I tried to seem composed.  
  
  
“What about you? Is this what you do when you’re not teaching?”  
  
  
“Usually. I have some work on display upstairs. By the way, I think you made the statue look better in   
the sketch than it actually does.”  
  
  
He gestured to the empty air.  
 

“You think so? Can you not see it?”  


He raised an eyebrow, slightly dubious.

  
“Can you?”

   
“Here, sit where I’m sitting and focus.”  
  
  
  
I scooted over, and he turned to sit on the same side of the bench before sliding over, his hip against  
mine. He squinted his eyes and then widened them, letting out a small laugh of astonishment.  
  
“Well, aren’t you clever? How’d you figure this out?”  
  
  
It was my turn to smirk.  
  
“I’m full of surprising little secrets.”

  
He smiled back and shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes off mine.  
  


  
“You certainly are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grid lahnal’bana grid: Pot calling the kettle “black” (lit. Pot calling black the kettle)  
> Ga'ta ir palasha: Both are very attractive/appealing/sexy  
> Ma shila siugen: You sweet-talker/flatterer (lit. You spit sugar)  
> On’nydha: Goodnight  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Hale’udh: Little/cute fox


	10. Surprising Little Secrets pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric comes to town,  
> Naele meets Cole, and his attempt to "help"  
> sends Nae into an embarrassing drunken meltdown.  
> :/  
> I included another sketch at the end...
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!  
> I love you all <3 Muah!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You make reality more vivid:_   
>  _I don’t know how you did it..._
> 
> _I had to be alone to know we were so close_  
>  — _The Orpheus Obsession,_ **by Dakota Lane**
> 
>  
> 
> (linked) Song Mentioned:   
>  [Wolf by Now, Now](https://play.spotify.com/track/28gMZbAmJlK6vEaJIUyyDo)

  
Luckily, Fen had promptly received a phone call just then. 

“I’m sorry, I should probably take this. I’ll talk to you later, Nae.”  
  
As soon as he walked out of sight, I exhaled long and slow. How could anyone have such an effect on another person? He made everything so much more intense. It reminded me of a quote from a book I read once. 

_You make reality more vivid: I don’t know how you did it..._ _I had to be alone to know we were so close  
_  
I stood up and stretched, trying to walk off the sensation that something important just happened. I wandered upstairs, curious about his frescos, when my phone vibrated.

> **Incoming  
>  +0-(393)838-4727  
>  **∆ **Varric** ∆  
>  12:25 p.m. **»**   I’m about to call you! PREP YO SELF!

 I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It rang.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hey Nae-nae. What’re you doing?”  
  
“Ha, I’m at work, of course.”  
  
“Oh, of course. _Excuse_ me!”  
  
“Awe, Varric, you know what I mean.”  
  
“I know. I’m not gonna get you in trouble, am I?”

“Nah, you’re good. We’re dead.”  
  
“Good. So, you’re coming out tonight. I’m in town, and I’m taking everybody out for drinks at 8. I’ve already talked to Sparkler and Tiny, and they’ve assured me they’ll make sure you attend.”  
  
“Varric, I have a 9 am class tomorrow!”  
  
“Then don’t get into a competition with Tiny again!”  
  
“Uhm, you also have a bad habit of getting wasted and continuing to buy me drinks until I pass out.”  
  
“I pinky-promise, that will not happen this time.”  
  
“Ugh, okay, okay. It’s not like I have a choice.”  
  
“Atta girl! Okay, I’ll let you go. Love ya!” 

“Love you, Varric. See you tonight.”  
  
Great. I’ll get to spend my first day painting in class with a hangover. I was still smiling anyway.

 

* * *

   
I was actually putting on makeup and attempting to tame my hair for a change.   
  
“Put on some eye-shadow. It makes your eyes pop. You’re always so lazy with your makeup.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”   
  
Dorian gave me the same look as when I called him “Dad”.   
  
“You’re not going to change?”

I un-tucked my blouse from my jeans and unbuttoned the bottom three buttons, tying the ends in a knot, so the tiniest sliver of skin was bare. That was about as sexy as I cared to bother with. Dorian nodded his approval, and grabbed my chin; painting my lips a dark cabernet, before tousling my hair slightly and turned me to look at my reflection. 

“I look like a slutty baby vampire. With bedhead.”

He laughed, kissing the top of my head and handing me my leather jacket. 

“You always look like a slutty baby with bedhead. The vampire bit is an improvement. Ready?”   
  
“Yeah.”  
  
I followed him out, and Bull fell into step behind me. They were really serious about the whole “enforcing my attendance” thing. We started to walk the three blocks to the bar when my phone buzzed.

>   
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  8:06 p.m. **»**    Come out and grab a drink with me.   
>         I want you to meet someone.
> 
>   
>  **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  ** § **Fen** §
> 
> Isn’t it a bit soon for me to be meeting your Mamae? **«** 8:07 a.m.
> 
>  
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  8:08 p.m. **»**    My mother is dead.
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  8:09 p.m. **»**    I would kill to see the look on your face right now.
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  Fendhis, Solas. That’s not funny. **«** 8:10 a.m.
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  8:11 p.m. **»**    Perhaps not to your delicate sensibilities.   
>  So? Will you come out?
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  I actually have been kidnapped by my friends, **«** 8:13 p.m.  
> so, I’m afraid I have to decline. But I am sincerely  
>  grateful for the invitation.
> 
> **Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  8:14 p.m. **»**    Sarcasm? 
> 
> **Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  **§ **Fen** §  
>  No. I mean it. Ma serannas. **«** 8:14 p.m.

  
  
“ _Inhaelen…_ ”  
  
Dorian’s voice sounded a little tense, so I looked up.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
I followed his gaze and stopped dead.

“Is that—?” 

“Yes. Yes it is.”  
  
Through the front window of the bar across the street, we could see Varric’s table,   
already joined by a few people. And, _guess who_ was sitting there already? Yeah.   
Totally should have seen that coming.   
I turned sharply to Dorian and Bull and lifted my finger towards their faces.   
  
“ _Remember_ —”  
  
“We know nothing,”  
  
Bull nodded grimly.  
  
“And meeting him again is a total coincidence,” 

Dorian sighed, looking at me like a da’len whose toy had been taken away.

“ _Thank you._ ”   
  
I composed myself for a moment before following them in.

 

* * *

   
The din of the music and chatter was alarmingly stifling. Varric spotted us first, as usual.   
  
“Sparkles, Tiny! Where’s my little muse?”  
  
I emerged from behind them, and hugged Varric, make sure to squeeze my eyes shut so I didn’t have to acknowledge Fen yet.  
  
“There she is! Naele, Naele, Naele…”  
  
I could tell he was already a couple drinks in. He went around the table and introduced us.  
  
“Cassandra, Isabela, Cole, and Solas, this is Dorian, Iron Bull, and Inhaelen Lavellan.”  
  
They all said their “Nice to meet you”s, except Fen. Or, rather, Solas. Who just looked me in the eye and smiled.

“Actually, Varric, Naele is in my Figure class.”  
  
“Oh, that’s right! Here, take a seat.”  
  
He ushered us along, and Dorian pointedly stood aside to let me go first, so I’d have to sit next to Fen.  
  
“Professor.”  
  
I smiled at him tightly, and he chuckled under his breath.  
  
“Please, Naele. Call me Solas.”  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Hahren.”

“So, Solas, tell us, how _is_ our little Nae as a student?”  
  
“Well, considering we have only had one class, I’d say very well. Though she did sing along to the music playing.”  
  
“It was one just one line—and anyway, I whispered it to myself. There’s no way you heard me.”  
  
“No, but I did hear you distracting another student.”  
  
I sighed heavily and shook my head as the rest of the table laughed. I shot “ _Solas”_ a look of betrayal. Luckily, Dorian quickly changed the subject, asking Varric about the book.  
  
“Have any of you—other than Cassandra—finished reading it, yet?”  
  
No one had, so he refused to talk about it yet.  
  
“Anyway, I have news! I am spending the rest of the Semester as a Guest Lecture on Creative Writing! Solas here introduced me to Cole, my new assistant!”  
  
We all cheered and clapped, and the rest of the table carried on. Solas quietly talked to me, aside.  
  
“I thought your friends had kidnapped you?”  
  
“They did. And I ended up here. I forgot somehow that you know Varric.”  
  
He smiled in a way that told me he hadn’t forgotten that _I_ know Varric. I didn’t get what his end-game was with all of this.  
  
“You look lovely.”  
  
I blushed, and mumbled to myself.  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“You look handsome.”  
  
“Thank you, da’len, but that’s not what you said.”  
  
He raised his eyebrows, and I sighed, defeated. If I didn’t tell him, he’d only draw attention to me.  
  
“I said, ‘Yeah, for a slutty baby vampire’.”

He took a sip of his wine to keep from laughing.  
  
“You don’t think you look attractive?”  
  
I looked at him, unsure. 

“I generally don’t _care_ what I look like to other people.”  
  
“Generally, but not always?”  
  
It was a trick question, right? He knew the answer. I just pursed my lips at him before looking around for a server; but there wasn’t one in sight. I excused myself as I stood up.

“Pardon me. Dorian? Bull? You want anything to drink?”  
  
“Dragon’s Breath for me, please.”  
  
“You know my usual, love,” Dorian kissed my cheek as I got up.  
  
I leaned over the bar, getting the attention of the Bartender, and placed our order, tipping him generously. Always tip your bartenders generously. And your baristas and servers. Always.  
  
“Need a hand?”   
  
Solas had followed me to the bar gesturing to the Barkeep, who nodded.  
  
“No, I think I’m okay. Thank you, though.”  
  
“I apologize if this is uncomfortable for you.”  
  
“I’m never comfortable unless I’m behind a brush and covered with paint.”  
  
I smiled as I lifted Bull’s giant flagon, Dorian’s glass, and my bottle, turning back to the table.  
  
“Thanks, Boss.”  
  
I doled out their drinks and sat down, just as Solas returned. Dorian was eyeing me.  
  
“You’re drinking _ale_?”  
  
“I have a 9 am class in the morning. I’m being a responsible adult.”  
  
“Precious, there’s no such thing.”

Dorian chided, and Isabela laughed, leaning forward; her ample cleavage was extremely distracting. 

“What are you _really_ drinking, darling?”  
  
“Fine, okay. Sun Blonde Vint, please.”  
  
Isabela raised her eyebrows, as if asking me if I was sure, but I merely smiled and nodded, so she went off to the bar. 

“Tranquil, a word against its meaning—an action failed with pain and shame, and then, betrayal: a lover’s lie, still aching. Embarrassed and lost, unsure of what she desires, afraid of her own decisions, fear of weakness. But they couldn’t take all of it, it radiates from her, like light and heat; growing again in strength….”  
  
“Cole—”  
  
I think Varric had tried to stop the kid, but I was already excusing myself, walking quickly to the restroom. Dorian called out after me, but I had already locked the door behind me. I didn’t cry, but I was shaking. Shivering, almost. A moment later, there was a knock.  
  
“Sweetheart, it’s Isabela. I have your drink. Let me in, please?”  
  
I unlocked the door, and she was standing there, holding my Sun Blond Vint. She walked in and handed it to me, and I took down half the glass in one go.  
  
“Hey, I didn’t hear what he said—but Cole, the kid….”  
  
“He’s a spirit, right?”  
  
“Y-yeah! You know many?”

I smiled at her. 

“I’ve only spoken to a few, but they’re all like that. Very blunt, no concept of censorship or savoir-faire.”  
  
“You okay, hun?”  
  
“Yeah. It just caught me off-guard. I’m fine.”  
  
I already was feeling calmer, warmer, from my drink. I followed the Isabela back to the table, concentrating on the flow of her silken chestnut hair. I sat back down smiling calmly, and the table was uncomfortably quiet.   
  
“I’m sorry, Inhaelen. I—” 

“I know, Cole. Compassion, right? You only want to help.”  
  
His eyes widened, and Solas’s eyebrows raised. 

“Yes! Yes. But, I made it worse.”

“Only for a moment. It passed. Thank you, though, Cole.”

“Can we be friends?”  
  
I smiled at the Spirit, and tossed back the rest of my glass before I answered.  
  
“Yes, Cole. I would like that very much.”  
  
Varric looked relieved, past the buzz-kill.

“Great! You’ll see him plenty around campus, I’m sure.”

I smiled at Varric, and then Cole.  
  
“If you’d all excuse me, I think I’d better go home. Class tomorrow and all.”  
  
“One of us had better go with you…”  
  
Dorian said, looking at me, concerned.  
  
“No, no, I insist you stay. Finish your drinks, enjoy yourself. Don’t ruin Varric’s night.”

I tried to smile reassuringly, but the rest of the Vint was hitting me now, and I sincerely doubt my ability to properly control my facial expressions.  
  
“I can walk her home, if no one is opposed. I also have a class in the morning.” 

Fen’s voice sounded even more delicious; like cream and dark chocolate and the after-taste of dawn lotus. Dorian and Bull looked at me for approval, and I merely nodded, wishing everyone a good night as Fen followed me out of the door. The cool breeze hit my skin, and I reached instinctively for my earphones, already pulling out my phone, knowing just what I needed to hear.

Even as it became more difficult to see, to stand—I needed the music. Solas just stood and waited for me, taking a headphone while I fumbled with the screen of my phone. Finally, I found it. Now, Now’s _Wolf._ We began to walk, and the beat of the song along with the cold air on my face, had me slowly closing my eyes, opening them again with increasing difficulty. Solas—or, I guess he was Fen, now—put his hand under my elbow, stopping me.  
  
“Naele, I have powdered Catsbane at my apartment, if you’re okay with stopping there. It’s the only real remedy for Blond Vint.”  
  
“I don’t want a _remedy_.”  
  
“You will in the morning, da’len. I’ll take you home, then go home to get it and leave it with Dorian. Where do you live?”

“Up one more, and left one block. Wait. No, yeah. Left.”  
  
He looked at me with serious concern, holding me upright as I swayed, feeling suddenly bold.  
  
“Naele, if you want to talk—”  
  
“I don’t. I don’t want to talk. I want you to kiss me.”  
  
“Nae—”  
  
“Fine then! Just go, Fen—Solas….Whatever!”

I tried to pull myself away from him, but he held fast, pulling me into him. I was on the verge of tears, humiliated. I kept trying to pull away, but I couldn’t manage to. I heard his voice, low and honeyed and dark in my ear.

“Shh…You’re okay, Naele. I’ve got you.” 

“What’s wrong with me?”

I was sobbing, but my voice was just a whimper.  
  
“ _Nothing._ Absolutely nothing is wrong with you, Inhaelen.”

“Then why don’t you want me?”  
  
It was a choked whisper, and the part of my brain that was still aware enough to realize what I had said immediately knew it was a mistake. His grip had loosened slightly, and I tried again to pull away. But he only let me pull back enough to press his forehead against mine.

“ _Ar isala_ —ar **nuvena** ma, gasha. _Y tel min’vir’or…._ ”

I knew the words, but as soon as one followed another, I forgot them. I couldn’t understand; nothing made sense. It was getting darker than the night sky, slowly, creeping in around the edges.   
Soon, all I could see was the stormy grey—but it, too, then faded to black.

 

* * *

                                     

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamae: Mother, mom  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Da’len, Little one, child  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ar isala—ar nuvena ma, gasha: I crave—I desire you, wholly/entirely   
> Y tel min’vir’or: But not this way.
> 
>  
> 
> **s/o to Project Elvhen and my usual babies <3**   
>  **esp. BriarRose for helping my French!**


	11. Dread Wolf Take You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLOT-TWIST!!!
> 
> Kinda.  
> Not really.  
> I don't know, someone else needs to be  
> in charge of writing summaries for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> I believe in you, so I'm clapping,  
> so you won't die....cause Peter Pan,  
> and you're all my little fairies?
> 
> Make sense?  
> Sorry, my brain is a fried egg right now.
> 
> Anyway, MUAH! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (linked) Songs Mentioned:   
>  [How to be a Heartbreaker by Marina & the Diamonds](https://play.spotify.com/track/2Ow4Pmi0VOOLvbmJ8V70qo)   
>  [Make Out by Julia Nunes](https://play.spotify.com/track/7sDNOhZKTb7RBDm3udUGDo)   
>  [Portions for Foxes by Rilo Kiley](https://play.spotify.com/track/4yY8JqTOQyi7K4O1QcQtBG)

  
Naturally, I woke up the next morning, not remembering a thing but how pathetically I had behaved, and feeling like I had been trampled by a herd of Druffalo. According to Dorian, after I had passed out, Fen had carried me home and brought me inside, called Dorian on my phone, and then waited with my unconscious body until they got home. _Then_ he went to his apartment, brought back some powdered Catsbane, and went home again.  
  
I was humiliated. I had roughly 6 unread texts from him so far, and I had missed my first painting class. Luckily, Dorian had some doctor-friend write me an excuse, and he had given it to my painting teacher. By the end of the day Tuesday, I hadn’t gotten out of bed at all, and had 22 unread texts and two missed calls. I refused to read any of them: ultimately deleting them unopened. I couldn’t handle it the shame.  
  
The next day, I called into work sick, and spent the entire day in the studio on my painting. I hadn’t said anything to Dorian other than “I’m sorry,” the day before; he texted me Wednesday night when I didn’t come home for dinner.

> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(843)772-7537  
>  **♡** **Dorian** **♡**  
>  9:02 p.m. **»**    Where the FUCK are you?
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(843)772-7537  
>  **♡** **Dorian** **♡  
>  ** The paint studio at Uni. Trying to makeup work. Sorry. **«** 9:04 p.m.
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(843)772-7537  
>  **♡** **Dorian** **♡**  
>  9:07 p.m. **»**    Stop apologizing. I’m coming to get you RN.   
>    
> 

I packed up my shit and went out to the parking lot. It was chilly, but I hadn’t brought my sweater. I embraced the cold as a punishment  
_  
That’s what you get for being such a baby._  

Dorian pulled up, and I got in the car. Feeling no emotions but guilt and shame and self-pity, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. He was quiet, though, and gentle.  
“Fen stopped by my office and asked about you today. He said he marked your absence as excused.”  
  
I nodded, not responding, staring at the dashboard blankly. When we got home, I couldn’t eat; I just apologized to Bull, who looked at me with concern, and went to take a shower. I let the water run cold—I didn’t deserve warm water—and I scrubbed my skin raw, and tore the knots from my hair. I lied in bed the whole night, but didn’t sleep. I went to both my classes the next day, but I didn’t speak to anyone; especially not to Fen. I only responded with head nods or shakes when he asked me questions relevant to his class; the rest of the time, I merely stared off blankly. He must have sent me close to 100 texts, but I deleted every single one without reading them.  
  
I went on that way for two weeks. Work. Home. School. Home. Minimal communication. No sleeping, no eating. Dorian stopped feeling bad for me, and started to get angry—and he was right. I had thrown myself a two-week long pity-party. Now I had apologies to make.  
  


* * *

  
Finally deciding I couldn’t keep doing this (or I’d end up like last time), I managed to get a night of sleep; two weeks after the day of my breakdown. It’s funny how little things—like making up your mind to be strong and get over yourself—can affect you like that.

  
First thing was first, Dorian and Bull. I woke up earlier than usual, and went into their room, crawling onto the bed in between them. I knew better than to climb under the covers with them, unannounced. Bull woke up first, opening his eyes to see me peeping up at him as I lay on my stomach.  
  
“Hey, sweet-pea. You okay?” he whispered.  
  
“Yeah. I just wanted to apologize for the past couple weeks: I’m not going to act like that anymore. I love you and you guys deserve better.”  
  
He squeezed me against his chest gently with one arm.  
“It’s okay, Boss. I know it was rough on you.”

He pointed to Dorian’s sleeping face, and I turned my head as Bull climbed out of bed and got dressed. I snuggled close to Dorian, and he instinctively threw his arm around me and pulled me in tight. Reaching up, I just barely tickled at the curl of his moustache, and his eyes opened.  
  
“Hey,” he whispered, a little wary, but mostly sleepy.  
  
“Hey. I just wanted to say sorry for the pity-party. It’s over now, and it won’t happen again, and I love you, and I owe you for taking care of and putting up with me for the last 14 days. And thank you for being my best friend. And I love you.”  
  
“You said you loved me twice,” he pointed out, like a dick, but still tucked me even closer to him.  
  
“I’d say it more than that, but there’s not enough time in this suffering mortal coil to total the actual amount.”  
  
“Fair enough. You are forgiven.” He kissed the top of my head, “Now, go get ready for school.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” That got a laugh from him.

Since I had decided to feel better, I put my happy playlist on and danced to _How to be a Heartbreaker_ as I slipped on my **Dread Wolf Take You** tank top (best shirt I ever made), and bothered to put on mascara. Baby steps, right?  
  
  
I was up early enough to catch a ride with Bull and Dorian to Uni, which was good, because I had to find Varric. I hopped out of the car, kissing them both bye and hugging them tight. The Languages department was the building right behind the Arts department (because setting it up any other way would be stupid. Seriously. I mean this), and I danced my way up the stairs to the offices. I found Varric and Cole sitting on either side of the desk; Cole just stared at Varric while Varric read papers.  
  
“Hey, guys.” I stood there with all my shame on my face.  
  
“Nae! By Andraste’s Fat Ass, I thought you’d never talk to anyone again!” Varric was up and hugging me before I could blink, pinning my arms to my sides.  
  
“Cole,” I jerked my head at him, and thought loudly, “ _COME HUG ME!”_  
  
He hesitate for a second, and then approached us, wrapping his long, gangly arms around Varric and me, both.  
  
“I’m sorry for the way I acted. It won’t happen again, I swear. I am so, so sorry.”  
  
“I can make it go away—” Cole started, but Varric shook his head at him.  
  
“It’s okay, Cole. I hadn’t dealt with the pain for a long time; I had just repressed it. Now I can grow from it, instead.” It was word-for-word out of Varric’s book.  
  
“You read it!” He beamed, hugging me again.  
  
“Of course I did. What else am I supposed to do at work?”

“Did you like it?”  
  
“I loved it! I was worried when Dorian told me that Inquisitor Lavellan was based on me, but your character was _nothing_ like me: she was amazing.”  
  
“She _is_ just like you…” He paused slightly, “if you fought dragons and rode around on a horse, saving Thedas from an evil, ancient Tevinter Darkspawn Magister.”  
  
“Or was graceful, or strong, or brave, or socially adept! You know, completely opposite of me!” I teased and he just shook his head and called me silly.

“Can we still be friends?” Cole interrupted my retort, and I looked at him, surprised.

“Of course, Cole. I told you, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. And I’m going to grow from it.” He looked at me wide-eyed and solemn, but nodded.  
  
“I’m sorry to hug and run, guys, but I have to get to Painting,” I frowned slightly, checking my phone.  
  
“Okay, well—Hey, did you ever get back to Solas? He’s been asking about you non-stop; worried sick. He said you wouldn’t even look at him.”  
  
“No, not yet. But I’m going to apologize today.” I fidgeted, nervous even just thinking about it. “I was just so embarrassed.”

He nodded sympathetically, and patted my arm.  
“Believe me, kid, if the worst thing you do in College is pass out on your Figure Study teacher, you’re gonna be alright.”  
  
“Thanks, Varric,” I smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and then did the same to Cole, “Thanks, Cole.” 

“Have a good day, Naele! It’s good to have you back!” Varric called down the hallway behind me, and I turned and walked backwards for a step while I gave him the finger-guns (and I didn’t even trip, so HA!)  
  
  
I got to the studio just in time to catch Dagna before class started.  
“Hey, Dagna, listen,” but she turned to me with such a happy smile, that I kind of felt like she hadn’t taken it personal at all.

“Are you feeling better? You were super down. I could tell; I get like that sometimes.” She was so bubbly and excited to see me, I felt my heart melt.  
  
“Yes, much better, thank you. I’m so relieved you didn’t take it personally. I didn’t speak to _anyone_ for two weeks—not even my best friends-slash-roommates.”  
  
“Oh, no, I would’ve known if you didn’t like me. You’re not one of those people that can keep a straight face very well. No offense.” Her eyes got wide slightly, and she put her hands up at the last bit.  
  
“Oh, I’m also not one of those people that get angry easily. You’d have to lie to me about something big, or kill one of my friends, or…something else terrible.”  
I smiled and she grinned back so widely, I wondered for a second if her cheeks were ever sore at the end of the day.  
  
“Oh, good! Because I talk a lot without thinking first how it might sound coming out.”  
  
“No kidding, same here. My foot is always in my mouth. You know, metaphorically speaking. I don’t think I’m in shape enough to actually put my foot in my mouth….”  
  
Dagna gave a bubbly giggle and turned to face Marethari as she entered the room, holding a budvase full of trimmed and arranged Crystal Grace, looking slightly confused and uncomfortable. She approached me and held it out, and I caught myself unconsciously flinching away.  
  
“Naele, I think these are for you?”  
  
“What?” I shook my head, “Pardon me, Amelan, I don’t …I mean—from whom?” I took the vase from her anyway, feeling the flush rise to my face.  
  
“I’m unsure, Da’len. A delivery girl just asked if you were in my class and handed them to me.” She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, and I thanked her before she walked back to the front of the class. I leaned back and set them on the empty countertop at the back of the room, grabbing the included card, and flipping it open.

> ** Fleurs de Val Royeaux  
>  **
> 
> Mi'nas'sal'ina ma, FoxEyes.  
>  Hope you feel better soon.
> 
> **♡** , **Fen**

_Oh…Creators, help me._

“Okay, people, you know the deal. You have to have this painting finished by end of Thursday. And don’t forget your homework? Surrealistic painting sketches? They’re due a week from today. Alright, now you listen to your music or audiobooks, or what be it.”

I loved Marethari for the same reason I loved every painting teacher I ever had. It was always, “Listen to me talk, get your shit done, and other than that, I don’t care.” So I popped in one of my headphones, so I could hear Dagna if she felt like talking, and hit play on Julia Nunes’s _Make Out._

“So, who are the flowers from?” Dagna was whispering and not looking at me, but smiling, as always. 

“Just a guy I know. I was really awful to him when I was, you know, blue.”  
  
“Awe, and he sent you flowers? That’s _so sweet_!” She managed to even bubble and gush in a whisper. She was a literal Ray of Dwarven Sunshine.  
  
“I know, I can’t believe it. I’m so ashamed of how I treated him, too….”  
  
“Well, obviously he’s over it and misses you! Gosh, that is seriously, just. Ugh, so sweet. Are you guys dating?”  
  
“Oh, no. No. Nope. Just friends.”  
  
_Super convincing, Nae. You should work for the Carta. They probably need someone who can tell the complete truth and make it sound like a lie._  
  
“Mhmm…” Danga threw me a glance, but then had to throw her hand over her mouth to quiet her giggle.  
  
“No, seriously. I like him, but I don’t really know if he’s just looking for something casual or if he thinks I’m completely mentally unhinged or what. No idea where we stand.”  
I had finished my painting about 3 times over now; I kept finding things to fix. It was a problem I had when it came to paintings. They were never quite done.

“Oh, well…I don’t know, but it _seems_ like he likes you too.” Dagna tilted her head back towards the flowers to emphasize her point.  
  
“Well, I was planning on formally apologizing to him today, so I guess we’ll see, huh?” And I kind of hated myself for the butterflies I got in my stomach at the thought that, _yeah, he_ might _like me too…._  
  


* * *

  
I walked into Dorian’s office with my flowers and he looked like someone had just told him his clothes were tacky.

“Can I keep these in here? It’s super embarrassing carrying them around.”  
  
“Woe is me! I got _flowers_ for being a bitchy cry-baby for two weeks!” He feigned, holding a hand dramatically to his forehead.  
  
“So, that’s a no?” I asked, looking more hurt than I was by his mockery.

“Don’t be silly, come here, and set them down. Who—Wait, don’t tell me. I already know.” He stood up and took the flowers, setting them on his side table, and kissing my cheek as an apology.  
  
“Did he tell you he was going to do this?”  
  
“No, of course not. But I made the mistake of giving him my number, and he’s only texted me once a day for the fortnight, asking how you were.”  
  
“Did…Did you just use the word fortnight casually in a sentence? That was _smooth._ ”

He grinned, looking satisfied, and leaned back in his chair.  
“I’m tired of saying ‘two weeks’. I figured I’d try it out on you and see how it sounded.”  
  
I climbed onto his lap, and he wrapped his arms around me as he glanced over some papers in front of him, making the occasional marks with his red pen. I recognized similar titles on each of them.

“Are those Varric’s student’s papers?”

“Yeah. It’s been a slow week, and he’s not used to grading and editing.”

“What’re they on?” I peeked over, trying to glean a few words.  
  
“Honestly? No idea. I just look at sentence structure and grammar, and let Varric actually read them so I don’t gouge my eyes out. I hate student papers. Are you ready for lunch?” He dropped his pen and stretched his arms.

“Yep!” I hopped up and grabbed the blanket we used for our picnics on The Green. Slinging my bag over my shoulder and following him out of the room.  
 

“Nae-nae, I hear you’re feeling better?” Dalish and Bull were already waiting for us, and with food.

“I am, thank you!” I squeezed her, and took the box she held out to me. Dorian spread out the blanket and we all leaned against each other, munching away.

“I love that shirt! It kills me…I bet the Shems pass you walking around like, ‘Is that a band?’” I laughed at the thought and thanked Dalish as I handed her my other headphone.  
  
“That’s what I thought it was,” Bull murmured though a mouth full of food, and Dorian swatted at him, telling him not to talk with his mouth full while Dalish and I laughed.  
  
“No,” I told him, “It’s the Elvhen Trickster God. The saying is a curse.”  
  
_The best curse._

“See, that why the Qun don’t believe in Deities,” Bull, all More-Rational-Than-Thou.  
  
“So the Dalish Trickster God won’t take them?” Dalish asked, laughing.  
  
“Exactly,” Dorian snorted, laughing at Bull’s face as he looked deadpan at Dalish.

“So your logic is, ‘If I refuse to believe in it, it’s not there’?”  
  
“No—Well. Okay. Kinda.”  
  
“Fair enough,” I nodded at him.

“Really?” Dorian looked at me, doubtfully and I shrugged.  
  
“Yeah, I mean, I can’t tell other people how to live their lives. You do you, I’ll do me, let weird controversial stuff go, and we’re good. I don’t want to waste twenty minutes of my life trying to change someone’s mind about things that don’t matter.”  
  
“But, what if they’re _wrong_?” Dorian gestured to Bull, who shot him a look.  
  
“If it’s about religion, politics, or (for my sake) math, who cares? You’re not going to change their mind with ‘You’re wrong’ as an argument.” I shrugged again, and he kissed my cheek.  
  
“I love you, Nae…but you’re wrong.”  
  
“But I’m happy being wrong about this!” I smiled, and took a big bite of my potato salad.  
  
  


* * *

  
I thought, at first, that I was the first one to Figure Study, but as I passed the wall of the small en suite bathroom that blocked Fen’s desk from view, I realized how mistaken I was.  
The Elvhen woman was in her robe, standing between Fen’s legs as he sat on his desk. He was leaning back slightly, and his brow looked furrowed, but her hand was on his thigh and their voices were low. He seemed to notice my arrival, but I kept my chin high and eyes straight ahead as I walked to my usual little cushion. I grabbed a drawing board and removed my supplies, pointedly not looking in their direction. I could see vaguely from my peripheral that he had pushed her away slightly, murmuring something else quietly, and then, _“Just go!”_ She hissed something unintelligible and stormed out. He sighed, running his hands over his face and back across his hair before standing, tentatively approaching me. I looked up at him when he got close, and he stopped. I could feel the heat in my face, and the THUMP-THUMP of my heart as it slammed against my chest, double-time. I felt ill.

 “Hey, Naele. That…That wasn’t what it—”  
  
“Solas, I am sorry, no—ashamed of my behavior for the past few weeks. It was inappropriate and rude, and it won’t happen again.”  
  
“Nae—” He took a step forward, and I kept my tone even and my head up, but I closed my eyes.

“Also, thank you for the Catsbane and the Crystal Grace. I truly wish you hadn’t gone through all the trouble on my account.”  
  
Thankfully, two more students entered and he didn’t have a chance to reply. I put in my headphones, picked out _Portions for Foxes_ , and when the model got settled—a dwarven man, not the she-elf from before—hit play.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelan: Keeper  
> Mi'nas'sal'ina ma: Feeling ***mi'nas'sal'in** for you.
> 
> *Mi'nas'sal'in:The intense feeling of missing something or someone that is deeply important or personal. (Similar to Brazilian "saudade" Lit. "The knife again in my soul.")
> 
>  
> 
> My usual gratitude to Project Elvhen,
> 
>  **And Dread-Love For:**  
> [ **WritingIllusions** , ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIllusions/pseuds/WritingIllusions)[**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose), **juliaxsnyder,** [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), & [**A_Dubious_Dream**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Dubious_Dream/pseuds/A_Dubious_Dream)
> 
> You guys are my Dori-Bull <3 xoxoxox


	12. Kinder in the Long Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naele confronts Fen  
> and vice-versa...  
> Shit gets HEAVY.
> 
> Sorry it's so short, but it's kind   
> of a big moment, you know?  
> But hold on, okay?  
> Fen's not done yet.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> My little Dread-Babies <3 Muah!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (linked) Songs Mentioned:   
>  [Settle Down by The 1975](https://play.spotify.com/track/36YLqJHsNHHODwX5gDPEBb%09)   
>  [Heart Out by The 1975](https://play.spotify.com/track/3srofwWlFzNqgSmRI9YbFY%20)

  
I successfully got through the whole class without him trying to say anything to me, except his occasional critiques or compliments of my drawings. His own music was playing, so I left my headphone in unless he was coming around during breaks. But when he dismissed class, he came straight up to me—the room wasn’t even empty yet. I pulled out my headphones, but my pulse still roared and my heartbeat betrayed me every time he got close.  
  
“I need you to stay. We need to talk.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” I managed to get out as Fenris shot me a look of…was it concern? Or suspicion?

I recognized the song playing, The 1975’s _Settle Down_. Not inappropriate, considering my emotions at the moment. I put away the drawing board and sat back down on my cushion, packed up my things, waiting until the class emptied. I was mentally chanting to myself: _I will be strong. I will be polite. I will not be emotional. I will not be inappropriate._

Finally, the last student had gone and the model had said his goodbye. Fen shut the door and turned to me. I felt a rush of adrenaline, the urge to run, like a deer facing down a…well, wolf. 

“Where did you get that shirt?” His tone was dark, and I stood up too quickly.  
  
“I made it,” shaking slightly, feeling a head-rush; I swayed for just a second, spots clouding my vision.   
  
  
He walked at me, fiercely— _He’s going to actually kill me—_ and he grabbed my face in his hands; his stupid eyes a storm at sea, searching my own urgently.And then he kissed me hard, like he meant it. Surprised, my eyes stayed open long enough to see the furrow of his brow, wrinkling that tiny circular scar just slight; his face looked pained, hurt. But then, the feeling of Fen’s lips on mine overwhelmed everything. No, it _was_ everything.   
  
  
All too soon, though, he was gone…and I stumbled forward slightly, trying to follow his fleeting mouth. I could smell the cedar and black pepper, Elfroot—his breath tasted like cinnamon gum. He was turning away, rubbing his hand over his face and he let out a tortured sigh. That was it.  
  
“What the FUCK, Fen? What was _that_?”   
  
I don’t ever yell. That involves the probability that I’m going to draw attention that I don’t want. But I couldn’t help it. _Heart Out_ was playing now. I felt like my insides were liquefying, I was confused, and angry, and I wanted him to kiss me again, and I wanted to break his fucking (beautiful) nose.   
  
“I don’t know. An apology, I guess.” He was still facing away, his hand over his eyes.  
  
“For _what_?”

“I don’t— _Fendhis_ , it’s all mixed signals with you, Naele! You act like you hate me, but you flirt with me, and then Cole did that thing he does, and you get drunk and pass out on me _in the street—_ and I try to take care of you, I try to check on you, but you shut me out. Two _fucking weeks_ , Nae! You would even _look_ at me, wouldn’t just tell me to leave you alone. Like I wasn’t worth wasting the words. And then you come in here today, and I’m already dealing with shit, and _even when_ you apologized you shut me out!”  
  
I didn’t quite know what to say. He was right. So I just said what I was thinking. I didn’t yell anymore: I couldn’t. If I raised my voice higher than a mumble, I’d choke up.  
  
“The whole reason I’m scared to let you get close to me is because I knew eventually I’d end up walking into something like I did today.”

He turned back around then; lips curling into a sneer, voice low and venomous.  
  
“ _You don’t even know what that was, Inhaelen!_ And when I tried to explain it, you just cut me off!”  
  
“I know what it looked like—and yes, I know, it’s ‘never what it looked like’. It’s always more twisted and complicated than what it looks like. I’ve done that song and dance before, and now she’s _marrying_ ‘what it didn’t look like’.”  
  


And just like that, the dam finally broke. I was crying in front of Fen. Again. Humiliating myself all over again. And he came up and held me— _because, of course he did_ —and that just made it worse.

“Why did you have to carry me home? Why did you have to send me flowers?” I didn’t even know if he could hear me through my sobbing mascara onto his white shirt.

“Ir abelas, Inhaelen. Ame fra athbora viran. Ar ju'nual'tel ma sast elvarel.” His quiet breath was warm in my hair.

“Ar nuvena'tel ma dian nual em…” I realized I was begging, but I didn’t care, I didn’t want to hurt over someone I never got a chance to really love.  
  


“It would be kinder in the long run.” He stepped back then, walking for the door; he paused just a second and looked back at me before leaving.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas: I am sorry  
> Ame fra lathbora viran: I am on "the path to a place of lost love"; a longing for a thing one can never really know  
> Ar ju'nual'tel ma sast elvarel: I will not hurt/bother you any longer  
> Ar nuvena'tel ma dian nual em: I do not want you to stop hurting/bothing me
> 
>  
> 
> **Stay Strong, Babies!**  
>  **It's not over yet!!**  
>  xoxoxoxo <3


	13. Bruises pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just...just read it, okay? 
> 
> **Thank you.**  
>  **I love all of you.**  
>  <3 Muah!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (linked) Songs Mentioned:   
>  [WILD by Troye Sivan](https://play.spotify.com/track/2HWWsTZxnLSUdFZ4gjsP5N)   
>  [My Love by the bird and the bee](https://play.spotify.com/track/1Y0iQblBDaw2qMutZqGoUH)

   
“See, _now_ would’ve been a good time for a pity-party, but you used up your whole years-worth.”  
 

Dorian was holding me across his lap, stroking my hair with one hand and checking grammar with the other. He was trying to tease, and it _was_ funny, but I could only nod. I was crashing from the adrenaline rush and the crying. It had been 30 minutes since he walked out, and I was emotionally drained.  
  


“You’re _not_ going all silent on me again.”

“No, no, I’m not. I’m just…blah. I told myself I’m going to be strong and get over it, and then day-one of my attempt, I get dumped by a guy that isn’t even my boyfriend. So now I just have to be fine, because yeah, like you said, I used all my ‘pity-vacation days’. Hey, does your window open wider than that?” 

“Yeah, it does. And I’m relieved you see it like that,” He watched me climb off his lap and walk to my bag, “I mean, I want you to be happy, and if you need a weekend of champagne and cake and horror movies, then I’m in. But if you fall apart again, I’m going to have to call your mother.”  
  
“Ugh, don’t go there, Dorian. I’m fine. It’s just a guy,” I shut the door to his office and opened the window all the way, “Admittedly, it’s a guy I have to see twice a week for the rest of the semester, but still. Just a guy.”

He watched me warily as I kicked my flats off and climbed up onto the sill, lighting a cigarette and dangling my bare feet out of the window. 

  
“It’s probably for the best, anyway. We’re not supposed to date our students—and I know it just happened to turn out that he taught your class, but the Board doesn’t care. I mean, he could lose his job; you could lose your masters.”

“Yeah,” I exhaled, looking out past the Languages Department to all the happy people spread over the green, like little chocolate sprinkles on a scoop of mint ice cream. _Ice cream sounds good right now. And champagne._ My phone vibrated.  
  


> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:44 p.m. **»**    Have you left campus yet? 

**_…SERIOUSLY, MAN?! COME ON.  
_**    

> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  No. I thought you were supposed **«** 3:45 a.m.  
>  to be leaving me alone.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:46 p.m. **»** I thought I saw you from the parking lot, dangling  
>  your feet out of a third story window, “not smoking”…
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:47 p.m. **»**    and I realized I can’t.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump because you don’t **«** 3:47 a.m.  
>  want to be with me. I’m not _quite_ that hung up on you.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:49 p.m. **»**    I know. That is not why.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  So? Are you going to tell me or not? **«** 3:54 p.m.  
>    
> 
> 
> ****Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:55 p.m. **»**    If you really want to know, tell Dorian you will text  
>  him later and come out to the parking lot.
> 
> ****  
> Outgoing  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  Seriously? Are you messing with me right now? **«** 3:56 p.m.
> 
> ****  
> Incoming  
>  +0-(363)364-2735  
>  § **Fen** §  
>  3:57 p.m. **»**    I am serious, Da’len.
> 
>  

I tossed the cigarette out the window, and carefully swung my legs back inside, hopping down and pulling the window down a bit. Dorian looked up at me, a single eyebrow lifted, as I grabbed my bag and shoes and kissed him on the cheek, heading for the door.  
  
“Gotta go! I’ll text you later, okay? I swear! Love you!”  
 

“Are you—It’s him isn’t it? _Nae?_ **_NAE!_** ”  
  
 

* * *

  
I could hear Dorian calling after me as I ran barefoot down the stairs, carrying my shoes in my hand, not bothering to put them on. I stopped running when I reached the building exit; running where there are people to watch draws a lot more attention than would be ideal right now. I crossed the square diagonally, heading to the car park, the pavement warm under my feet. As I got close, I could see him leaning against the hood of an old, beat-up dark green hatchback. It was perfect. I  _loved_ this car, and it suited him so well. His arms and ankles were crossed and he was watching me so calmly: just like the very first time I saw him.

  
“Get in. Quickly, please; before someone sees you.” He smiled, but just barely, as he pushed himself off the hood and walked to the drivers-side.

“I’m sure that sounded a lot less _‘Kidnap and murder-y’_ in your head,” I quipped as I climbed in; tossing my shoes and bag on top of all the wrinkled or torn sketchbook paper littering the floorboard, and propping my feet up on the dash. He looked at me, startled, for a second before he laughed.

“It really did, I assure you. I meant someone who could fire me. Barefoot?” He started the car, but was looking slowly from my feet to my legs. After our fight (or whatever it was), I had changed into some comfy shorts I had brought to sit around Dorian’s office in. They were probably a little too tight to be out in public in, and I realized—more than a little self-consciously—that he hadn’t seen my legs bare in daylight before.

“Oh, ha. Yeah. Not a huge fan of shoes, but living in a city, it’s not really an option not to.” I blushed, looking at the months-old chipped black polish on my toenails as we pulled out of the parking lot. I looked over at him, and he was smiling at me.

“ _Are_ you actually kidnapping and murdering me?” I squinted at him.  
  
“Ha! No, Da’len, you are safe…for now.” He threw me a quick wink before turning back to the road.  
  
“Then why did you look at me like that?”  
  
“Like what?” He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at me again, still smiling.

“Like _that_.” He chuckled and shook his head slightly, handing me his aux cord.  
  
“Put on some music, will you?” I plugged my phone in, pulling up my playlist.  
  
“If you’ll tell me what that look was for.” I hit play; _WILD_ by Troye Sivan started to come through the speakers.

“I just like your legs. They are so…colorful.” He looked at me again, grinning wider.  
  
“That sounded like a Vivienne compliment,” I groaned, pulling my feet into the seat with me and wrapping my arms around them.

 “No, I mean it. The tattoos really compliment the bruises.”  
  
“We both know I’m not the most graceful person, okay? No need to make fun, Hahren.”  
  
  
“No, Da’len. I _like_ bruises,” he purred, making eye contact just long enough to make me flush.  
  
I chewed on my bottom lip to hide my smile, swallowing the nervous giggle that tried to bubble up as I looked out my window in silence for a long moment. Windows were rolled down, and the hot air was whipping my hair around my face in that way you get nostalgic about thinking back to certain friends and ex-lovers and summer road trips.

“I won’t hurt you, Naele,” Fen was watching me, looking concerned that he had said the wrong thing.  
  
“What if I want you to?”  
  
_Did I just say that? Out loud? Oh, Creators. He’s going to think I’m even crazier than he already does…._  
  


But he just blinked and me slowly, a pursed his lips slightly as he looked back at the road: not in a disapproving way—there was actually something extremely sexy and feral, animalistic about it. Like the way a wolf’s upper lip quivers slightly right before it bares its teeth. My heart was already beating like a hummingbird, and yet my pulse sped up even faster.  
  
We passed Dorian’s house—technically mine too, I guess—and turned at the next street, towards the bar we were at when I acted like an idiot. But we turned the street before the bar, and then turned again into an apartment complex parking lot. Fen punched in his code at the little arm-gate and pulled into a space. I followed his lead, though I slid my shoes on before I stepped out of the car. He entered the first building’s hallway, walking all the way to the last door on the right, and unlocking the door.  
  
“I never would’ve pegged you for a ground-floor guy, Hahren.” He chuckled, as he opened the door, gesturing for me to enter first.  
  
“No? It is easier for you to escape on the ground floor,” he said, flipping on the light in the dim hallway, hanging up his keys.  
  
“Exactly. You seem more like a top-floor person. Nowhere for you victims—I mean, _guests_ to run,” I teased, following him through the archway into the open space. It was, for an artist’s space, remarkably neat.  
  
“Sorry to disappoint, Da’len. I know it’s not Dorian’s house, but it’s just me here.”  
  
“Pfft. Dorian was born with a ruby-and-emerald-encrusted _gold_ spoon in his mouth. I’m just lucky he lets me mooch off of him. My place in Haven would’ve taken up half of your apartment.” I gestured as I looked around.  
  
It had hardwood floors throughout and vaulted ceilings, with a bed loft. There was a corner with a drafting table and easel set up, and though the entrance had been dim, there was plenty of natural light coming in from several of the large windows I’d come to expect in Val Royeaux. He had a nice view of the pond and small, wooded park at the center of the complex.  
  
“This is actually an amazing apartment,” I was just thinking aloud, walking towards something that particularly caught my eye. He had taken my phone and put on My Love by the bird  & the bee as he fiddled around in the kitchen.  
  
One small section of wall held up seemingly infinite sketches and paintings, on everything from whole, large 18”x24” sheets of paper, all the way down to pen scratches on restaurant napkins. There was a sketch of Varric laughing that made me smile. There were endless gorgeous portraits and figures of humans, Elvhen, Qunari, and Dwarves; plants and trees and animals, too. There were perfectly-executed studies of hands, feet, ears, arms, legs, necks, eyes, smiles, noses, etc., etc. Scattered here and there were also short poems: handwritten, typed, and stenciled.  
  
“I think we should talk a bit.” He chuckled at my start when he broke my trance, and led me over to his couch as I pouted like a chastised da’len.  
 

“I want to explain to you about Briala.” I had completely forgotten about the she-elf.

_HOW DID I FORGET ABOUT_ **HER** _?_    
  


“Oh, the woman whose hand was on your thigh?” My voice sounded too-sweet, even to me.  
  
“Yes. Her. She was part of the reason I moved here in the first place. I was the Assistant Director for the Imperial Foundation for the Preservation of Art in Halamshiral. She _was_ the Ambassador for the Elvhen as well as an Advisor to the Empress. We met at a Gala at the Winter Palace. I was unaware at the time that she was also Celene’s lover,” he saw my eyes narrow and lifted a hand.  
  
“I did not so much as dance with her, but she did not leave my side the entire evening; which, as you can imagine, ended poorly for both of us. Celene had us both removed from our positions, and Briala has been hounding me ever since. I didn’t know she had signed up as a figure model until today, but I’ve already submitted the paperwork to have her excluded from my class.” He sighed heavily, “That’s really all I can do.”  
  


_I could kill her._

“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, embarrassed at how jealous I was. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. 

“Will you tell me why you wouldn’t speak to me for two weeks?” I suppose he saw the lost look on my face.  
 

“I don’t really remember what I said or did, I just remember the feeling of total humiliation the next morning. And then Dorian said that I had passed out when you were walking me home, and that you had to carry me, and call them from my phone…” I could look at him, and he held completely still. I felt sick all over again.

“I just couldn’t make myself face you, or accept your sympathy; how pathetic you must have thought I was. I don’t want anyone’s pity: which is why I don’t talk about, you know…my past. I barely even speak to my mother.”  
  
  
I glanced up at him, finally, but there was no pity on his face. No specious nod of presupposed understanding. Just patience.

“You know, within the past two decades, the Dalish have begun to attempt their own ‘Rite of Tranquility’,” I said it as if it were given, but I knew it was treated furtively even amongst the highest-ranking clan members. He didn’t show any confusion, but he rarely did. And it wasn’t as if Cole hadn’t _used the freaking word_ or anything. I looked down to my fiddling hands, twisting each the rings I wore, in turn.  
  
“It usually kills the Mage. Once or twice, it’s succeeded with no alarming phenomenon. Inexplicably, it didn’t cut off my connection to the Fade, nor strip me of my emotions; and yet I don’t dream, and I can’t _use_ magic. Just feel it. It doesn’t matter much to me; it’s never been anything more than interesting to me. But the pain that caused it, and that it consequentially caused, is still always at the back of my mind.”

 

We sat in silence for a moment, until I finally stood nervously, walking back over to the wall. I don’t know how long I stood there looking at them before I spotted one that stunned me. It was a pencil-sketch of _me_ , sitting with my knees bent and leaning back on my palms, smiling like I had been laughing. I recognized the print of Dorian’s picnic blanket underneath me. I felt Fen come up behind me, and I turned to see was much closer than I had expected.

“When did you draw that?” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper.  
  
“The day I found out you were in my class. Obviously before _you_ found out,” he smiled looking at it, and handing me a coffee mug full of—  
  
“Champagne?” I laughed, pleasantly surprised, looking at him. 

“Varric said you usually drink it like water.” He said it so offhand, shrugging.  
  
_So you just kept some in your fridge on the off-chance I’d come over?_  
  
I didn’t ask (or accuse) him; merely sipping from the mug as I turned back to the wall. After scanning briefly, I spotted a Conte sketch of my bare shoulder—recognizing my tattoos—and arm, the strap of one of my tank tops, my collarbones, throat, and lips. Next to that was a sketch of my face and hand, tucking my hair behind my ear, my headphones in. The last one was a marker sketch on a napkin of me at the bar that night, standing on the foot-bar and leaning over, waiting for the bartender to see me.

“That one was from memory.” His mouth was right next to my ear, and I froze, hearing my own breath catch.  
  
“Your memory is much kinder to me than reality,” I tried joking, suddenly feeling panicked. He seemed to sense my tension and took a step back when I turned to face him. His hands were behind his back and his eyebrows were raised, as if waiting for some kind of answer. 

“You are…extremely talented,” I breathed, gesturing to the wall as a whole. He thanked me, half shrugging the way anyone who draws does, as if none of it is good enough.  
 

“Hey!” I remembered, “You said you were thinking about drawing me that day you crashed my coffee date, but you already had.”  
  
I looked at him sternly, but he just raised his brows slight and smiled.  
  
“So? Have you never wanted to draw the same person or thing more than once?”

“Nice save, Hahren,” I pursed my lips, but was smiling despite myself.

“I love that dimple,” he gently pressed his thumb to my cheek.

_I have a dimple?_

  
“What dimple?” He laughed, and his eyes glinted just as he leaned in and kissed my cheek chastely.

“The one you only get when you’re trying not to smile, Da’len,” he whispered, his warm, cinnamon-gum breath on my ear.  
  
His hands were suddenly in my hair, lifting it off my neck and pressing his lips to the trembling pulse in my throat. I sighed involuntarily, my head rolling back. I felt the reverberation of his chuckle against my throat, and he parted his lips slightly, wetting the skin. My knees turned to rubber underneath me, and I gently wrapped my arms around his neck, slowly letting him assume my weight. He pulled away slightly to look at me, and for possibly the first time, I looked right back into his tempest eyes; not hiding behind a facial expression, or looking away, or blinking.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” I had completely lost my voice, capable only of whispering, and he leaned back in, his lips brushing mine lightly as he spoke; his voice gravelly and deep—

“I was just about to say the same of yours.”  
  


And his mouth finally pressed back against mine with fervor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da'len: Little One
> 
>  
> 
> _I TOLD YOU_  
>  it would be okay!  
> And it will only get better....
> 
>  
> 
> **My endless Fount of Love for ALL of you,**  
>  **But Second-Servings for:**  
>  **juliaxsnyder,** [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), [**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose), [**WritingIllusions**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIllusions/pseuds/WritingIllusions), & [**A_Dubious_Dream**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Dubious_Dream/pseuds/A_Dubious_Dream)
> 
> P.S. Aisln, you can't kill me now! I fixed it!!


	14. Not All Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut smut smutty smutty smut smut!!!
> 
> This chapter took me foreverrrrr to write,  
> so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> MUAH! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (linked) Songs Mentioned:   
>  [Cards & Quarters by Local Natives](https://play.spotify.com/track/4qzW5f0kjIC98EmOK4rgAu)   
>  [Desire by Meg Myers](https://play.spotify.com/track/3kG6GPkDkV2RQTm9QdYN9Z)

I let out a groan of protest when he stood straight, and he chuckled gently; setting me on the ground, and untwining my arms from around his neck as he step back, managing not to spill from the mug I was still holding.  
  
“Telsila’tel, da’len. Tamahn ne dhavathe’is i'athdhea.”  
  


I was both disappointed and relieved that he pulled back, though I pouted at him dramatically. I was kind of overwhelmed by everything. This day had been full of shake-ups—and even after nearly three months of wanting this, wanting _him_ —I wasn’t sure I was ready for…well, _you know_. I hadn’t even slept with a man in three years. Not since before Josie. I looked out the window and over to the little pond and park.  
 

I walked to my bag, kicking off my shoes again, and then over to the window across from me; opening them and sitting on the sill and leaning against the frame, I lit a cigarette. I kept one knee tucked up under my chin as I swung my other leg back and forth, not quite able to reach the grass beneath me. Fen opened the window next to mine and climbed out, carrying an old instamatic camera.  
 

“What’re you doing?” I asked as he walked a short ways away before turning back towards me, raising the camera to his face.  
  


“I want a picture of you,” he snapped the shutter release, and the camera whirred, sliding out a grey photo.

“Smoking?” I asked, dubiously. _Is this some kind of interventional thing to make me stop?_  

“Just as you are. I want a million pictures of you, doing anything and everything.”  
 

“Brushing my teeth? Washing dishes? Filing my nails?” I smiled, teasing him.  
 

“All of it. Everything,” his face was composed and sweet, and he walked back over to me. He leaned down, and ran his tongue across my bottom lip before kissing me again.  
  
“You don’t mind the taste of cigarettes?” I whispered when he pulled back slightly.  
  
“On you, I like the taste of everything,” he murmured back before kissing me again.

I blushed and he raised the camera again, taking another picture from a downward angle.  
He handed me the first one, and I looked…like myself, on the best day. I was almost glowing; I saw faintly the dimple he had mentioned on my cheek. My hair was a tangle of blonde, and the dark of my roots made the calcite-green shine brighter in the center of my amber eyes.

  
“Lovely,” Fen’s voice refocused my attention onto him, but he had crawled back inside.  
He smiled at me and took my mug, walking back to the kitchen. He tapped another playlist, since the last had ended—playing Cards & Quarters by Local Natives. I finished my cigarette, tapping it out on my palm before tossing it into the grass. I stayed sitting on the windowsill, though, watching the sky as it slowly turned to orange with the sunset. The air blowing in was glorious, but was slowly getting colder. He brought my mug back to me and brushed my hair off of my neck and over my shoulder, placing his lips to vertebrae visible there.  
  


“You made this shirt?” His low voice rumbled through my back and into my chest, making my heartbeat stutter and thud.  
  
“Mm…mhm.” He slowly kissed his way up to my shoulder.

“But you said you’re not religious,” His lips brushing the strap of my tank top out of the way slightly.

“I-I’m not,” I breathed, my voice getting more husky, “but I love when the villain wins.” 

“Villain?” His voice was playfully gruff, and he took a gentle bite of my neck.

“Mm, antagonist,” I could barely hear myself now, my voice was so faint and his lips were brushing beneath my ear.

“That’s a better word,” he chuckled, pulling away and drawing another groan for me.

  
He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from my bag and made me scoot over, as he sat next to me, handing me one. He tossed one up in the air, catching it in his mouth before using his magic to light it. He lit mine with the end of his own.  
  
  
“I thought smoking was bad for you, Hahren” I teased.  
  
“It is,” he said, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke, “but so are a lot of things.”

He looked at me all half-lidded, smirking.

“Are you bad for me?” I took a drag, looking up at him from under my lashes, and he leaned in again, dragging his lips along the outer rim of my ear.

“Poison,” he breathed, and my voice caught. He pulled back again, grinning wolfishly, and we sat in silence for a bit, finishing our cigarettes. The sun was starting to set, and he moved back inside before holding his hand out for me.

  
“C’mon, I’m taking you home.” 

“Really?” I felt kind of hurt, like he had wound me up just to let me go. He must have seen the look on my face, because he smirked—something flashing across his face that I didn’t catch in time.  
  
“Oh, just to grab some warmer clothes. It’ll be cold tonight.”  
  
I caught myself starting to grin as I took his hand, and he chuckled and kissed the dimple again.  
  


* * *

 

  
“You’re going to stay over there?” Dorian was in the kitchen, holding a new artifact, a statue, for one of his studies, and glancing over his reading glasses at me, a single eyebrow raised and a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Bull was standing over the stove, stirring something, and trying not to smile.

“I don’t know, maybe not,” I shrugged, “Do you disapprove?”  
  
“Would it matter?” Dorian’s smile finally cracked and he gave me a full-on grin.

“It would, but it might not stop me,” I laughed, and leaned over, kissing his cheek.

“Do you remember your Emergency code?” Bull asked, grinning.

“Broccoli sounds delicious! Or, just broccoli, if it’s a text.”  
  
“Good girl,” Dorian squeezed me briefly and slapped my butt. I had thrown on my leather jacket over my tank top and put my jeans back on. I went and hugged Bull, who pecked the top of my head with a kiss.

“Love you guys,” I chirped over my shoulder, scooping up my bag.  
  
“Text me when you can,” Dorian called after me, and I gave him a thumbs-up as I walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

I climbed back into his car, and he smiled at me. I propped by bare feet back up on his dashboard.

“Were they angry?” He asked, backing out of the driveway, “Seatbelt.”  
  
“No, of course not.” I buckled up as I watched his hands; he only drove with two fingers, long and beautiful and effortlessly.  
  
“You are eternally adored,” Fen laughed, and it was better than whatever trance music he had on.

“I’d rather be feared than adored.” It came out more bitterly than it felt, and he looked at me, brows furrowed. 

“Would you? And why is that?” I shrugged, not knowing quite how to answer.  
  


“Because I’m just as capable of doing damage as I am of being damaged.”

“Is the whole super-affectionate, clumsy, would-lose-my-head-if-not-attached thing an act, then?” He broke the long silence just before we pulled back into the complex parking lot. 

“No, I never said I was heartless or elegant; in fact, quite the opposite. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a threat—that I’m weak. And I rarely lose things, thank you very much. Mostly my problem is fear.” He turned to me, turning the car off.

“Fear, of what?”

“Mostly, being a disappointment to _anyone_ ,” I followed him back inside, “And sometimes it’s how some people are just _more_ than others, you know?”   
  


“Give me an example.” He hung his keys up and I left my shoes by the door, moving back to the couch as he poured more champagne and hitting play on my phone.  
 

“Like you. When I first met you, when you came to take me riding.”  
  
“Me?” He laughed, walking back over and sitting next to me, his fingers brushing mine as he handed me my mug.  
 

“I was _terrified_ of you those first few hours. And not because of anything you did or because I felt I was in danger—though,” I took a sip of my drink, “you _are_ extremely intimidating: quietly intellectual, how you manage to coolly give the most intense of looks. How you seem both present and somewhere else at the same time. But none of that was why you scared me, why you still kind of do.” I waved my hand then, as if it was silly.  
  


“What is there for you to be scared of? You are intelligent and talented and beautiful.” I laughed at that, and he quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“For a woman to be beautiful is too complicated, too lucky, and too fleeting to be an admirable quality,” I laughed dismissively, “Aside from intelligence, grace and confidence are the only two developable and lasting assets able to give a woman power…. And I carry myself like a nervous rabbit that found itself in a foxhole; anything but graceful. And I’m only intelligent if you can get me to talk.”  
  
I smiled and looked down at my hands, holding the mug. I was not intoxicated; just buzzed enough to be comfortable and over-talkative.  
 

“You still didn’t answer why you’re afraid, Da’len,” Fen smiled softly, his thunderstorm eyes seeming to smolder.  
 

“Your words seem carefully chosen for maximum impact; your mind is brilliant and strange, and different from anyone I have ever known,” I laughed gently, looking back down at my hands, “And I can't read you completely, which never happens to me. It feels like I am partially blind, with only the slightest undercurrent of electricity to know when you have any emotion.” I took a sip before going on,  
  


“You are living art. I can barely look at you, sometimes. Everything about you is overwhelming. Not only are you gorgeous, but you have an air of…” I gestured with my hand, trying to find the word, “what I would refer to as mischief, if it wasn't more mature—more refined than that. You’re like some beautiful, deadly creature. It’s the most fearsome I've ever found another person.”  
  


When I raised my eyes back to him, he had cocked an eyebrow, giving me a look somewhere between dubious and smug. 

_Living art. And I was jealous of whatever gods forbade me the credit of creating him._

 

“Sorry for talking so much, Hahren” I ducked my head shyly.  
 

“It was, perhaps, the most you have ever said to me, all at once,” he laughed warmly, “And it was all poetry.”  
  
“Those are my only two setting, I think. Poet or stuttering idiot,” I laughed, but a bit tersely, “But I was always jealous of those girls that were poetry; I never could manage to be one of them.”  
  
“How so?” Fen looked bemused, but interested.  
  
  
“I am always the poet: painting others in passionately long-winded descriptions, coloring them brighter and more vividly than they see themselves—sometimes more than they could ever _be_. I loot the people around me for inspiration, and never return the parts of them I stole to write about.” 

I shook my head at myself, shamefully.  
  
“And even though I’m not remarkable in any _real_ way, I still kind of long to be someone's inspiration, you know? To read myself in words, harsh or kind; to see myself living as black ink on white paper. There’s an immortality in that.”  
  
“I hear immortality is overrated,” he joked as he sipped from his own mug.  
  
“Oh, I don’t think I’d ever want to live forever. But _you know_ what I mean: it’s a different kind of immortality.” I realized how long I had gone blathering on.  
  
_Idiot. Shut up, stupid._  
  
  
“Yes. The kind where you don’t have to face whether or not you became the hero or the villain.” I nodded and he tilted his head at me, like he was trying not to laugh.

“What?” I set down my now-empty mug on the side table and crossed my arms, holding my elbows insecurely. 

“Nothing, I just enjoy hearing you talk like this. So openly.” He chuckled a little, and I pouted, moving to stand and walk away.  
  


But he leaned forward, wrapping his hands around my hips and dragging me backward. Caught off-guard, I instinctively attempted to dodge him; he anticipated me though, and we wrestled, tumbling us off the couch. I was giggling now as I pretended to fight to free myself, and I could feel his chuckle muffled against my hair. He crossed one long leg over both of mine, holding them down, and with one arm around my waist, rolled so I was pinned beneath him. His hands grasped each of my wrists in and pinned them above my head, leaning his face close to mine. I felt so small with him wrapped around me. He parted his lips, barely brushing them against my neck. I heard my breath—mewling unwittingly, and Fen hummed his gratification, purring into my ear. 

"You make the most lovely sounds," His tone was rich and heady, tinged with amusement.  
 

"I'm sorry," I babbled, embarrassed. He chuckled, moving both of my wrists into one hand, and using the other to pull the strap of my shirt from my shoulder, leaving it bare; tracing my collarbones with his lips.  
  


I was arching under him—every move he made was so measured and slow, and I was wantonly writhing under him, as if I had completely lost control of my mind. I suppose I had. The smell of his clothes was woodsy and I could faintly hear Meg Myers'  _Desire_ playing the in background. He moved his mouth back to mine, gently kissing me as he slipped his hand just under the hem of my shirt, barely grazing the skin of my hipbone. I gasped and pressed myself up against him with all my strength, and he slid his fingers farther up; his thumb tracing the upward arch of my stomach to my ribcage. He pressed his fingers firmly against each rib, one at a time, as if counting them.

“Are you not ticklish?” He asked, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye.

The question on his _face_ asked was if this was okay, if this is what I wanted. I grinned slyly and let my lips part, giving him my best _Come-hither_ eyes (which is not saying much, honestly) before shaking my head.

“ _Din_ ,” I breathed, tiling my chin up slightly, exposing my neck slightly.

He chuckled before suddenly biting down hard where my shoulder met my throat, and I let out another coo of pleasure. He sat up and released my hands, straddling me. He looked down at me thoughtfully, before standing up.

_Shit, nooooo. What did I do now?  
_

He offered me his hand, and I let him help me up as he ignored my pouting. Then he led me to the small ladder to the little loft where his bed sat. My heart jumped into my throat as I watched him climb up, and I followed without looking up at him. My entire body felt as though it were tingling. He hooked his index fingers through my belt loops, his thumbs pressed against my hipbones, and pulled me in close to him. I tilted my face up to his as he leaned down, glancing the faintest whisper of a kiss across my lips before pushing me back onto his bed.  
I bounced slightly, disturbing my vision, but when I looked back up at him, he still stood: head tilted and watching me for a reaction. I blinked slowly, letting one corner of my mouth curl just slightly. That seemed to be enough. He leaned over, sliding my shirt up torturously slowly with both hands, kissing his way, inch by inch, as more skin was exposed. He stopped just below my breasts, biting the skin of my ribs, and letting his thumbs barely brush across my nipples over the fabric of my shirt. I arched my back more than I knew I could, letting out strangled moan. 

“I would have those sounds of yours, keep them if I could,” he murmured into my skin, his lips pressed to the vale of my sternum.  
  
I shuddered, a soft “ _ah”_ escaping me, and this seemed to shift something in him. He grasped my shirt and lifted me by it, pulling it over my head.

 

* * *

 

 

Before I could even land back on the bed, he had caught me gently by the back of the neck; tangling his fingers roughly in my hair and pulling my mouth against his. His mouth pressed hard against my own briefly before I ran my tongue lightly over the his lips; tracing from the corner over his top lip and sweeping down to repeat the motion over his bottom lip. He growled lowly before diving into me: studying the groove in the center of my tongue, massaging the floor of my mouth, and tracing over the ridge of my hard palate. Suddenly he released me, and I fell back onto the bed. He raked his eyes over me but raised an eyebrow as he looked into my face. I instinctively covered myself with my arms, and looked away, self-conscious—but he grabbed my wrists again and pulled my arms away, pinning them to the sides, before kissing each nipple gently.  
  
“No breast-band?” He smirked slightly, looking down at me. I shook my head, eyes wide.  
  
“I don’t have anything to strap down,” I looked away again, blushing with shame.  
  
He released a wrist and placed his index finger under my chin, turning my face back to him.  
  
“Look at me, Inhaelen,” his voice was commanding, and when I did, his eyes were almost urgent.

“Ane _venirast._ Ane naslahnathe leanatha,” His voice was smoky and seraphic, and he kissed me with such hunger.

I hooked a hand around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, before moving it to assist my other hand; my fingers fumbling with the buttons on his plaid shirt as his dreads spilled like a curtain alongside us. I finally got the last button undone, and pushed his shirt from his shoulders, running my hands over every inch of bare skin I could reach, moving my mouth from his to nip at his clavicle. He pinched a nipple firmly between his fingers, and I let out a low groan before biting his neck sharply just below his ear. He seemed unaffected though; merely darkly teasing as he whispered in my ear.  
  
“Ra’or sathal sul ma, Vherlin? Mia sul em.”

My whole body quivered under him at his words, and when he tweaked my other nipple, I mewled loudly and arched my back—pressing my hips roughly against his. He let me move and writhe against him for a moment—biting hard into (what little there was of) the outer curve of one of my breasts and drawing another cry from me—before fleetly pulling my hair to kiss me hard, and then withdraw again. He made quick work of removing my jeans; deftly managing the button and zipper before yanking them off in one, smooth movement. The cool air on my legs was a surprising relief. He kissed the inside of one ankle, and then slightly higher up on the opposite leg—his pace, his restraint, was torment. Finally he reached my lower thigh, placing a gentle kiss, before biting hard. Unsuspecting, I let out a whimper, and I felt him grin into the flesh of my other thigh, before repeating the bite. His hands had slowly been spreading my legs as he had crawled his way up between them; now, he gripped each thigh forcefully, pushing them apart.  
  
_Serannasa Mythal, I wore my edhrius today…  
_

He bit the skin at the edge of my smalls more gently, before brushing his lips over the fabric, chuckling quietly at my gasp and the jolt of my hips. He wet his lips before parting them and exhaling his warm breath onto the already-tingling nerves below. I knew he had to feel how wet I was already, and I blushed, turning my head and closing my eyes. He hooked his thumbs under the sides, peppering my freshly bare skin with kisses as he _so slowly_ pulled my smalls off. I was a flustered mess, trying not to make a sound or thrash about; I just held my breath and held as still as my twitching muscles would allow.  
  
“ _Ina'lan'ehn,”_ he whispered against my pussy, barely audible, but his voice was thick with need.  
  
  
He dove into me with a guttural sound—his tongue mercilessly pushing me to the point I thought I would shatter, and I found myself lifting my hips against his mouth, mewling and moaning as he hummed his enjoyment. I don’t know how long he licked and sucked at me, or how many times I went over the edge; sometimes I begged him to stop, it was too intense and almost painful, but he kept on. Finally grabbing him by the hair, I gathered enough air to growl.  
  


“ _Fen_ , ame isalal ma, _sathan!_ ” He crawled up to me, an infuriatingly satisfied smirk on his face.

“Ahn ma isala, ma’ da’len?” He purred in my ear, his hand gently grasping my throat.  
  
“Ar isala ma pala em,” My voice sounded much more demanding in my head.

“Ma nuvenin, Fox Eyes.”  
  
  
And suddenly, he was easing into me—but my vision was just spots of color, and all I could hear was my own voice calling out and his unintelligible groans. I was begging, _faster, harder, hurt me, please—_ with his hand around my throat and his body crashing into mine.

“Look at me, Naele,” his voice was just a pant, but there was a dominance there. 

I raised my eyes to his, my mouth open and gasping for air, and his eyes were so pale, they were almost a blue.  
  
_“Rosa'da'din sul em, Da’len.”_

And those words, that voice, his _eyes_ —once again I was swept off into convulsions and tremors, feeling myself spasm around him, as he too, reached his peak—sighing my name.

He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to mine, resting his forehead on my own until I looked at him.

 

“Are you okay?” I didn’t know if I could speak, so I just nodded fervidly…and gave him a thumbs-up.  
  
_So smooth, Nae. So, so smooth._  
  
He laughed and gently removing himself from me (and with no little difficulty), rolled next to me.  
  
“Can I get you anything? Water?” He looked at me so adoringly, I think I blushed again, but I couldn’t be sure; my whole body felt hot.  
  
I nodded weakly.

“Will you stay tonight?” His face was suddenly hopeful and almost pleading, and my already skipping heart missed another beat.  
  
  
“Only if you want me to, Hahren.”  
  
And he nodded, grinning as he kissed me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telsila’tel: Worry not  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Tamahn ne dhavathe’is i'athdhea: There will be innumerable kisses by dawn  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Din: No  
> Ane venirast: You are perfect/divine/flawless  
> Ane naslahnathe leanatha: You are art to praise/ worship/give glory  
> Ra’or sathal sul ma: That is pleasing for you  
> Vherlin: Kitten, baby cat  
> Mia sul em: Purr/mewl/meow for me  
> Edhrius: panties/women's smalls. Specifically elegant, designed to be seen  
> Serannasa Mythal: Thank Mythal  
> Ina'lan'ehn: Beautiful  
> Ame isalal ma, sathan: I desperately need you, please  
> Ahn ma isala: What do you desire  
> Ar isala ma pala em: I need you fuck me/ have sex with me  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Rosa'da'din sul em: Cum/orgasm for me
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **I love you all!! xoxox**


	15. REBOOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **FINALLY, PEOPLE! FINALLY!!**  
>  I am so relieved to officially have this chapter up,  
> and, as a thank you for your patience,  
> we've got a little Fen POV in this one!
> 
>  
> 
> **Hopefully it's not a let-down....???**  
>  I am featuring Felassan for the first time in this chapter,  
> and we all have **[luzial](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial)'s AMAZING Fic, [Ruins](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5099036) to thank!**
> 
> She wrote such a perfect, amazing, fantastic Felassan, that I accepted her depiction as my own personal headcanon.  
> I just hope I do her Slow Arrow justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Biggest Shout-Outs have to go to:**  
>  **silent-of-spirit , violet--nova, 5ftgarden, & faerunner**  
> for calling me out neglecting this fic,  
> and even caring about it at all, to begin with.  
> and an EXTRA SPECIAL DEDICATION  
> to my Solamancer Brain-Twin,  
> for keeping me focused and teaching  
> me how to do writing sprints:  
>  **tel-abelas-mofo** ♡  
> (Sorry for the lack of exorbitant {or any} smut!)  
> 
> 
> * * *

* * *

  
  
We had been up most ( _okay. **All.**_ ) of the night talking…and drinking, and laughing, ( _and, yes, having sex,_ ) and talking some more. Fen had fallen asleep curled around me maybe an hour before, and I had spent most of the time listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I hadn’t managed more than some light dozing when my phone vibrated loudly near my face. I grabbed it as quickly as I could without jostling him too much, not wanting to wake him.  


 

> **Incoming** ****  
> +0-(843)772-7537  
>  ♡ **Dorian** ♡  
>  **6:39 am** **»** Good morning, little nympho! Just checking in,  
>  and wondering if you need a ride to work?

**_SHIT—I forgot about work?!_ **

 

 

> **Outgoing**  
>  **+0-(843)772-7537**  
>  ♡ **Dorian** ♡  
>  YES PLZZZZZ!! I’m @ the first apartment bldng in  
>  the Les Arbres complex. **« 6:40 a.m.**
> 
>   **~~~**
> 
> **Incoming** ****  
> +0-(843)772-7537  
>  ♡ **Dorian** ♡  
>  **6:40 am** **»** Can-do, babe. Be there in 10.

 

I gently slipped from underneath the weight of Fen’s sleep-heavy limbs. Luckily managing not to wake him, I found the garments that had been tossed aside the night before and tiptoed back down the loft ladder. I grabbed my untouched rucksack and tugged on the extra clothes I had brought: a worn, oversized sweater and a pair of ragged black jeans… _._

_HOW did I forget to bring something to wear to work? Morrigan is going to_ **kill** _me._

  
Shoving my things back into my bag, I unlocked the door silently as I could—  
**_  
                  Wait!_** _Gotta leave a note or something! Can’t be rude.... ***** Yeah, cause _then _things might get_ awkward.

  
Fumbling with my bag yet again, I tore out the first semi-blank page from my notebook and grabbed a pencil from the cup ( _full_ of permanent markers) on his counter. I attempted to finger-comb my hair while I thought of what to write, but I wasn’t managing well with either. I didn’t want to be to come off as weird as I felt, or overly eager; I embarrass myself enough as it stands.  
  
  
It was childish and panicked, and it was on a page covered in terrible, half-assed doodles and illegible scribbles. But left it counter, regardless, I flipped my hair over and wrapped my matted locks into a knot on top of my head. I tucked the pencil in, to hold it my birds-nest in place—and, between you and me, maybe as a little souvenir…. You know, _just_ in case I woke up later to find this had all be a dream.) My phone vibrated again as I held it, plugging in my headphones. Not bothering to read the text from Dorian, I slipped out, locking the bottom lock before I pulled the door shut behind me.  
  
_***** Note my heavy sarcasm here..._  
 

* * *

 

  
Half-jogging my ass to Dorian’s waiting car, I could feel the _“oh shit”_ adrenaline wearing off. I’d be lucky not to pass out 30 minutes into my shift. The sun had just risen over the horizon, but the air was already hot and thick with humidity. Dor had the windows rolled down and was watching me open the door from his too-dark sunglasses. He was grinning widely, obviously at my expense, with his beautiful white teeth nearly glowing against his chai-tea skin. He smelled deliciously spicy, too; I slid into the passenger seat, and we were moving before I finished tugging the door shut.  
 

“Hey—”  
  
“I brought you some spare clothes, check the back seat,” My best friend slid his shades down his nose to look at me, handing me my usual travel mini-mug.  
“And I figured you could use a quad-shot?” 

“Yusss! Dor, you are a _god_ ,” I barely got the last words out, already desperately chugging half my caffeine fix down.  


“So….” He led as I set the mug in the cup holder and reached back, feeling around the back seat blindly, “Are you going to spill or what?”

“What’s to spill? You already know what happened,” I laughed pulling into my lap the plain, strappy black maxi and nicer flats ( _read: less beat-up and sole-worn_ ) he had brought me. 

“But I need _details,_ Naele!” He turned down Bad Sun’s _Daft Pretty Boys,_ and I lifted my sweater off over my head before sliding my arms into the light linen.  
 

“I’m not getting graphic with you, babe.”  
  
  
But I was already blushing, and Dorian’s smug hum was dragging the truth from me. I wiggled my hips out of the jeans and pulled them down with the hem of the dress.  
  
“...He was—he _is_ maddening. And beautiful. And _talented_ ,” Dorian chuckled and I felt my ears grow hot, “We stayed up the whole time, talking and, well, you know—”   


_“_ Making _hot, passionate_ _love_?”  
__  
....Wow.  
 

“I was gonna say ‘fucking’, but sure?”  
  
I could feel my nostrils flaring in that _super attractive_ way they do whenever I’m grossed out or embarrassed. “Making love” was never a term I could bring myself to say without a grimace: it sounds so…trite. I guess I’ve never seen myself as the kind of person that _makes love_ to someone else. I flipped down the visor and checked the mirror.  
**_Oof!_** _Lookin’ **rough** , girl…._

   
“You don’t look as bad as you think,” Dorian always somehow knows exactly what I’m thinking when I pull a face, “Just wipe that mascara from beneath your eyes and touch up your powder.”

 “Thanks, Bae.”  
  
  
Easy enough advice to follow, and he was right—by the time we pulled into the Museum parking lot, I actually looked like a person again.  
_6:58 am. Just in time. Thank Creators/Maker/et. al, Dor drives like a madman._  


“Walking over to campus for lunch?” Dorian waited for me to finish balling up the extra crap from my rucksack and cram it behind the driver’s seat.  
  
“Yeah, probably,” I nodded, then chugged the rest of my espresso, “If I survive that long.”

  
“Okay babygirl, just text me,” He leaned over the center console, pecking me on the lips, “Have a good day!”  
  
“You too,” I ducked out of the car, slinging my bag over my shoulder, “I love you more than anything! You’re the best!” 

“I know! Love you most!”  


I could hear the smile in his voice, calling from behind his tinted windshield as I walked backwards and blew him a kiss. Turning around and raising the hem of my dress so I didn’t trip, I skipped up the marble stairs and through the glass and ornate ironwork doors into the cool AC. I walked quickly across the lobby, my footsteps echoing off the granite floors and up towards the high ceilings. Rounding the wall behind the empty reception desk, I managed to clock in at exactly seven o’clock. To my immediate annoyance, the Curator/Registrar/Manager, Morrigan, walked around the corner. Morrigan has several other job titles, as well; all of which, she is quick to apprise _everyone_ of, ad nauseam. I genuinely respect all she’s accomplished, and she is stunning—but I don’t see us getting close. Like, ever. 

She spotted me and strode into the small break room, followed by a small, dark-haired Dalish woman. I’m not entirely sure why, but she was kind of familiar as she came to a stop just behind Morrigan. Her mind seemed elsewhere as she stared at the floor. She was taller than I am, and long-limbed, with a black blunt-cut bob skimming just below her jaw.

  
“Ah, Inhaelen,” Um, Morrigan’s hawk-eyes feel like they look _right through_ you, “Welcome our new Conservator, Merrill, of Clan…?" 

“Sabrae,” The Dalish woman’s sweet voice held a subtle twinge of irritation, but she raised her head, smiling at me with a genuine kindness.  
  
She had the largest green eyes I’d ever seen, and Dirthamen’s Vallaslin decorated her face in a specialized design: I guess it’s a Sabrae thing? Having never gotten mine, I really don’t know, but the Lavellan design for the Vallaslin of Dirthamen is different.  
  
  
“Please, call me Naele,” I smiled at her, reaching out to shake her hand, “Only my mother calls me by my whole name. Oh, and Madame Morrigan, I suppose.”

“ _Inhaelen_ is our _Touche-À-Tout_ , if you will,” You could _hear_ Morrigan’s eyes roll as she waved her hand towards me, contemptuously.

“She is an Administrator for the Exhibit staff, but since we’ve such a small operation here, she mostly works as a Receptionist and Guide.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Merrill looked from Morrigan back to me, and her face was taught for a second, relaxing back into a sincere smile as she shook my hand.

  
“Well, if you need anything,” Seizing the chance, I excused myself, “I’ll be at the front desk. We’re technically open, now.” 

“Indeed,” My eyes nearly rolled back into my head at Morrigan’s sneer; I nodded to Merrill with a smile as I passed her.

  
Back around to the front desk, I was glad to finally be sitting down. It wasn’t likely to be busy, and there wasn’t any data entry or paperwork set out for me to do; I was happy to pull out my phone and sketchbook, popping an earphone in and hitting play without checking the first song on the list—appropriately enough, _The Fool_ by Ryn Weaver. What better reflection of my headspace, vis-à-vis Fen?

                   _“You chase me while I play the clown; but, then you know, oh—I'm a fool for you.”_

__  
I might as well have written either “desperate” or “childishly obsessive” on my forehead for him. If I were anyone else, watching our relationship develop from the outside?  
_Prepare yourself for the next six-plus months of booty-calls and repetitive masochistic, self-induced heartbreak—until he pretends you never even existed in the first place, of course. You’re scarring yourself for the rest of your life._  


Which made me wonder why Dorian hadn’t said anything; he certainly hadn’t kept his mouth shut when I was with Josephine. He wouldn’t let me hurt myself just for the sake of getting over her.

_What is he seeing that I’m not?_

 

* * *

  
** FEN: **

  
When I woke up, I wasn’t alarmed to find she had gone. Really, to find she had _stayed_ would have been a true surprise. Nae was a skittish creature—that much was evident the first moment I ever laid eyes on her.  


 

> _Prudence had whispered, noticing without even looking (‘_ Someone is very fascinated by you, Lethallin….’ _) I could feel eyes on me from the other side of the room; she was propped up on the Qunari’s horns, as pale as a bed-sheet. She was almost child-like, very soft features and wide, green-amber eyes. She didn’t so much as breathe for a beat. And then, she looked away: her attention sharply turned to the good-looking, nutmeg-skinned man with the moustache, who then also looked over. Boyfriend, no doubt. I had almost worried he was going to cause a scene, and all over a glance._  
>    
>  “Hello,” All white smile and charisma, and a Tevene lilt to his voice, “Are you in one of the bands?”  
>    
>  The man casually leaned his hip on Fel’s merch table; fluttering his lashes just enough to set bait. He wasn’t here to accuse, he was asking.  
>    
>  “No, I’m merely watching the table for a moment,” Firmly polite but not dismissive, even with Fel’s return, still unable to keep my eyes from flickering to the small woman. She was still perched three feet above the tallest head and pointedly not glancing over.  
>  “Is there anything I can get you?”  
>    
>  “A light for her, maybe,” Nodding at her pointedly, he winked as he turned, walking back his friends, “If you’ve got one.”
> 
> _The tawny Tevene had followed my eyes to the girl, who was accepting an offered beer. The worn straps of her top dipped low to display the arcing ridge of her spine, the hallows beneath delicate scapulae turned to shadowy pools—Her presence was hypnotic, even facing away, lifted like a doll off the Qunari and set on the floor. A strangle ripple of Veil against my skin echoed the awareness: there was something important about this da’lan. She had a completely unique_ **gravity**.  
>    
>  She ducked down abruptly, near the side exit, and I lost sight of her. I could feel Fel eyeing me, his smirk almost has it’s own aura. I humored him and turned, sighing, to acknowledge I’d been ‘caught’, seeing the mist of Prudence smiling warmly over his shoulder.
> 
> _“Just gonna stand around glaring at me witheringly, Harellan? As iselenal mar avise!”_  
>    
>  A single brow quirked over sharp, violet eyes and a wolfish grin spreading across the angles of his dusky skin: there’s no winning with Fel, so I slipped on my jacket, grabbed my bag and helmet. I threw him a wave over my shoulder as I made for the front door. There was a better chance of finding her among the sea of children if I looped around. She was just sitting down on the steps. Well, not sitting down so much as slumping into a small, self-contained ball.
> 
> _She was mostly backlit, this slip of a thing, and the orange glow of the streetlamp gave her pale, tangled hair the gradient of a sunset. She fumbled around in her bag for a moment as I approached slowly, trying not to make too much noise. She was muttering to herself, but it came out as soft little huffs and hisses. A sheen reflected the shape of her tongue clicking behind her teeth, licking her lips. She had a small face and a gentle upward slant to the tip of her nose, which she wrinkled at the battered cigarette she pulled from her bag—I had just managed to slip my helmet on the steps above her. She was too busy fighting her cheap, broken lighter to notice how close I was: I could smell, though pale and easily missed, lilac and black pepper. I leaned forward, a gentle tug at the Fade…._
> 
> _“Fff—Oh!” She looked up: fox-eyes wide with surprise and then panic. “Thank…?”_  
>    
>  I couldn’t help but raise a brow as she choked on her words, coughing a bit.
> 
> _This da’len was lovely, but in the way all pretty, young elven women are—a faint tan, a sprinkling of freckles, but nothing that would make one want to stop her in the street…. Except, of course, there was.  
>  For all her innocent, youthful appearance, there was no indication of true vulnerability or weakness. The air about her held something decidedly recondite, yet she had very little (if any) awareness of it. She was far more than her sum, a fact that was obvious with merely a glance. And it was that unnamed something that made her preternatural, and frankly, enticing._
> 
> _“T-t—Ahem. Thank you,” Breathy and strained voice; her eyes watering only made them seem even larger._
> 
> _“Smoking is bad for you.”_  
> 
> 
> _It was curt and graceless, and I never once gave a damn whether or not she smokes, but it is what one says to a smoker when one is not smoking. She straightened slightly, a small crease forming between knitted brows. Her delicate jaw clenched with indignant defiance._
> 
> _  
> “I know,” Without irony, and matter-of-fact, “I don’t smoke.”_
> 
> _Her voice had evened out. It was about as high and uncertain as I expected, but it had an almost impish quality underneath. I looked pointedly at the cigarette she was, even then, raising to her lips._
> 
> _“I mean, I am smoking now, but usually—” She tossed her head as she argued with herself, and I realized this is not postured or acting. She was so easily herself, unchecked and without apology,_  
>  “—But, I don’t smoke. You know?”  
> 
> 
> _  
> “No, I am afraid I don’t know,” I was failing to stifle my grin, leaned on the handrail just behind me, crossing my arms over my chest._
> 
> _She rolled her eyes and pinched the inner arches of her brow-bone, sighing as if she were dealing with a difficult da’len: not a man attempting to flirt with her._
> 
> _“I don’t smoke,” She looked up again, composed, but lips pursed,  
>  “Except for stressful situations.”_
> 
> _A single dimple appeared in just one of her cheeks as she smiled tautly, her patience waning. That dimple—The instant it appeared, I felt light-headed. That dimple, so infuriatingly smug, condescending…and yet I desperately wanted to see it again._
> 
> _“Like with your friend in there?”_  
>    
>  When I shifted my weight and laced my fingers behind my back; and though she wasn’t looking at me, I could feel her peripheral awareness. At the time, I thought her edgy or uncomfortable, nervous.
> 
> _“Yeah, I’m sorry about him. He—” She shook her head as she ducked again, hiding behind her curtain of tousled hair, “—There was a miscommunication.”_
> 
> _“About what?” My confusion sincere, “He merely asked if I was in a band.”_
> 
> _I couldn’t quite read her, and she kept her face turned away as she took a long drag; delaying her exhale for a curiously long time. We sat in silence for a long moment while she stared at her feet, resembling a brave kitten. Only, she was unsettling._
> 
> _I saw the silhouette of the Tevene in the door, and caught a sharp glance from her Qunari friend. I assumed I only had a moment—so I leaned towards her._  
>    
>  “Hey….” She looked up, a politely blank expression and slightly rosy, “I’m Fen.”  
>    
>  “Inhaelen—Er,” She shook her head vehemently, “ **Naele** , preferably.”  
>    
>  I offered a handshake. She only paused a beat to hesitate before she placed her small, tough-skinned hand in my palm. I pulled her up so she was standing upright; she glanced at my grip on her when I didn’t release her.
> 
> _Naele’s eyes followed my every motion as I pulled my marker from my pocket. She didn’t object when scribbled the number on her hand; glancing up to gauge her reaction, her attention was on the motion of the felt tip on her skin._

**  
** When involved in her surroundings, you can see it: Naele takes in as much detail as possible, committing every moment to memory. It is fascinating to watch her unwavering concentration.

The two sharp raps at the door answered any question I may have had as to whom was on the other side. I unlocked the door absently as Felassan bounded in past me: at the sight of unfamiliar handwriting, I was picking up the scrap of paper from the counter.

Her scribbles were barely legible, and if she had been anyone but Nae, the non-committal wording might have concerned me. But she is definitely an escapist, if nothing else.  


* * *

 

                                                          

* * *

   
“How charming!”

  
Fel bit loudly into an apple as he read over my shoulder. He put on music, and tossed himself onto the couch.

  
“ _She_ Hit-It  & Quit-It? And she seemed like such a sweet girl.”

 

His concern was real. Just not really worried about my feelings. His potential misjudgment of Inhaelen was his main concern. The “business casual” attire clashed with his omnipresent, wickedly boyish grin. Despite having never met her, he was confident in his assessment that she was merely my pretty, naïve student…. And I was, allegedly, just going to pass her off on Briala as a peace offering, or some such.  
  
“Naele is sweet,” Swatting his shoes off the couch arm, “She is flighty, as well.”  
  
“Ooh, smart girl, considering who she’s messing about with!”

 

Felassan chuckled to himself, looking up from under his wiggling eyebrows. His Vallaslin standing so stark white against his russet skin made the Elvhen man’s violet eyes look slightly lighter. And the quickly-graying hair braided down his back lent his handsome mien a maturity that suited him. Sometimes I worry we might be actual brothers. Luckily, neither of us are quite so unfortunate—  
  
“She’s not easily backed into a corner, then? ...Metaphorically speaking, obviously.”  
  
“I’m sure that sounded a lot less ‘Kidnap and murder-y’ in your head.”  
__  
With a bark of hilarity, Fel cried out into peeling, full-bellied laughter at the parroted quip; wiping tears from his watering eyes and gasping for air. Shaking his head, his wide grin reminded me of the candy-dispensers. The ones whose faces separate almost entirely from their would-be jaws? Yes, those.  
  
“And wherever did _you_ pick that line up?”  
  
He was still giggling and gulping air. I was not in the mood to give him those details to mock me, so I settled for glancing at him meaningfully—which, of course, he met with a knowing wink. He was another flurry of giggles as he moved to the windows. The bass of Mansionair’s mix of Constant Crush reverberated in my chest, overlain with VERITE’s repetitious lyrics; humming, I washed my face and dressed.

                   _Ccconstant-crushhh, it's always got a hold on, hold on me—It's in my blooo-blood…._  
  
  
When I looked back, he held the photograph of Naele sitting in the window last night. He ran his eyes over her face, scrutinizing it with a steady intensity. Felassan was not easily unnerved, and even less one to show it.  
But I have known him for a very, very long time.

  
“Well, there’s undeniably something to her, isn’t there? And not just the enchanting melancholy around the eyes—You know the kind I mean. That lovely, haunting sadness those ‘ _certain kind’_ carry around with them, even with their truest smiles. And her bones: they don’t seem as though they’re intended to hold her upright, do they? They seem meant to set the world a hypothesis.”  


He turned his head sharply to me, then. Fel had always been skilled with things like riddles and puzzles. He was unused to his attempts at unknotting a mystery turning out for naught. 

  
“What _is_ it about her?”  
  
  
  
“Would you like to actually meet her, now?”  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> Elvhen:  
>             Da’lan: Little One  
>             Harellan: Trickster, rebel  
>             As iselenal mar avise: She awaiting your magic, for a flame
> 
> Orlesian (French):  
>             Touche-À-Tout: Jack of All Trades (lit. Touch-Upon-All or Touch-All)


	16. Things We Don't Talk About (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nae meets Felassan, and Fel  
> accidentally pushes the wrong button.  
> Fen makes up for it later.
> 
> Okay, I totally cheated and used a prompt-fill for the second half  
> of the chapter, but blame Keturagh! She said it was okay!! 
> 
> Translations are at the beginning and the end of the chapter.  
> ❤❤❤THANK YOU SO FREAKING MUCH FOR READING,  
> IT MEANS THE LITERAL WORLD TO ME. I LOVE YOU ALL ❤❤❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs Mentioned:**   
>  [Girls by The 1975](https://play.spotify.com/track/2zyz614fJRrqQXW1q0sY1c)   
>  [Alive With the Glory of Love by Say Anything](https://play.spotify.com/track/7ve7SjgFNCQiuwaYP6uERF)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Isama'lin: Brother  
> Daean’udh: Little bird  
> Mamae: Mother  
> Babae: Father  
> Ir bre’abelas: I am deeply/intensely sorry  
> Da'len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ma shila siugen: You sweet-talker/flatterer (lit. You spit sugar)

* * *

It had been a couple days since my, er, _Sleepover_ at Fen’s; I was wandering the halls at work, singing along to _Girls_ as it played through my headphones. I was definitely not heading purposefully towards his traditional Elvhen fresco display whilst daydreaming about what the weekend might hold.... It was definitely a subconscious heading, of course.

> _“Bite your face to spite your nose / 17 and a half years old / I’m worrying about my brother finding out / Where’s the fun in doing what you're told?”_

I had obviously seen Fen in class, and we had gone to get coffee the day before— _Thursday,_ I think? We had been texting and whatever, but I’d been trying my best to keep it all as casual as possible. Actually, if we’re being real, I’d probably come off a little stand off-ish and cold. Fen, of course, acted oblivious to my big step back. _Damn Man-brat._

I was moseyed along, vaguely taking in the art around me, but without truly absorbing it. I passed through the second floor archway into the natural light of the lofty, glass-domed octangular room. Vivienne had spared no expense on accommodating the exhibit, while held the floor-to-ceiling collection of fresco displays. She’d had the walls reinforced to hold up the immense slabs of plaster, smeared over the thin layer of stone bricks that made up the backings of their ornate frames. They were made so they could be transported, albeit with great care, to other museums or locations if needed. Against two walls, the center section and the one to the right of the entry, hung thick, crimson velvet curtains: merely covering the vacant stretches awaiting Fen’s latest installments.

  
I meandered slowly past the first three images, taking in their general theme of strife and freedom. They were breathtaking, though I should expect as much from Fen, given his doubtless decades of study and anal-retentive tendencies. He is one of the few—if not _the_ _only_ —still living with the knowledge and skill necessary to create the traditional Elvhen-style fresco. The same tall, bald elf in a wolf guise leads other elves through what appeared to be Eluvians. I chuckled to myself as I took in the last panel. It depicted the main elf, seeming to flee from the very wolf whose pelt was worn in the other graphics. The wolf is a strange choice as a symbol of trust, especially considering the relationship between Fen’Harel and the Dalish elves depicted. The central character seemed to even be _removing_ the so-highly cherished Dalish Vallaslin—? Yeah, _right_.  
  
I mean, _what in the Void is Fen’s thing for wolf Anti-heroes?_ I doubt whomever named Messere _Solas Fenor’lin_ expected him to take the “Pride of the Wolf-Blooded” thing so… _to heart_? I chuckled to myself again, singing along to my music.  
  


> _“I said No! / 'Oh, give it a rest, I could persuade you / I'm not your typical, stoned 18 year old’ / Give me a night and I'll make you / I know you're looking for salvation in the secular age / but girl, I'm not your savior.”  
>    
>  _

 I don’t know what possessed me, because I certainly know better, but I found myself stretching out my hand. I had meant to to run my fingertips over the seam where two different shades of pigment met flawlessly—  
But a dark bronze hand firmly grasped my wrist, preventing my touch. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the unexpected contact, and I looked up quickly into the mischievous violet eyes of sharply featured, dusky skinned elf. The man released his hold on my wrist with the same tenderness as he had gripped it, though much slower, as if anticipating retaliation. His expression was one of faux disapproval, but the way he smirked while _tsk-_ ing at me was instantly and stomach-flippingly familiar. I tugged one of my earbuds loose, and the music’s loud vocals echoed into the empty air of the gallery.

> _Wrestle to the ground / God help me now because: / they're just girls breaking hearts / Eyes bright, uptight, just girls /_ _But she can't be what you need if she's 17 /_ _they're just girls…._

   
“The 1975?”  
  
The elf’s rhetorical question at the song's artist was delivered in a deep, silvery voice; I somehow got the impression that the smooth, impish nature of his tone was ubiquitous. I gaped at this, this— _reverse-doppelganger_ of Fen.  
This man was, of course, decidedly _not_ either of the personas of Solas Fenor’lin I know; the white Vallaslin standing stark against his coffee skin alone put that thought to bed. Those deep, plum-orchid eyes, though, had that same roguish glint and heavy-lidded, almost sleepy aspect like Fen’s. I looked up to take in the loose, silken strands of greying hair in a thick plait that he had pulled over his shoulder. He was nearly as tall as Fen as well, maybe only an inch or two shorter. But this man was a much snappier dresser: he had that casual, subtly disheveled look that normally takes some effort. But, in his case, it looked completely natural. However unsettling this elf was, my intuition found him intriguing, and likely affable. And— despite being (probably?) unacquainted, I would never say this aloud to _either_ of them—something about him reminded me of Dorian.

              _It’s probably the clothes._  

  
“Fel, I hope you’re playing nice with Naele….”  
  


Like the familiar warmth of a favorite blanket, that unmistakable creamy, dark-chocolate cocoa voice broke my trance. I never thought I’d feel physically _relieved_ to hear Fen say my name. Nervous? Yes. Flustered? You betcha. Panicked, of course; thrilled, undoubtedly. But relief was a new one. I turned to see him approaching and my breath caught. Because, of course. I heard the quiet chuckle of this _Fel_ as I took in the sight of Fen striding up, his wing-tipped shoes nearly silent on the marble. A wry curl at the corners of his lips, his dreadlocks loose from their usual knot, and a blue button-down with his sleeves pushed up casually into the crease of his elbow.  
 

“Don’t I always play nice, _Isama'lin_?” Fel smirked at his sibling’s (?/!) eye-roll, “Forgive me, I should have recognized you. I am Felassan, and I have heard _all_ about _you_ , Miss Lavellan. Though, not about your haircut…?”  
  


Fen had come to a stop in front of me and cocked a brow as he eyed my frizz halo. I self-consciously reached up, patting at my new hairstyle and worrying that I cut it too short.

_Maybe he doesn’t like it. Maybe he preferred the pink at the ends. Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to Dor as he smooth-talked you into his “New Chapter, New Nae!” ploy.  
_

 

“Oh yes, when did you have that done?” Reaching out to wrap a lock of chemically dyed, blonde-to-blue hair around a finger, a genuine smile broke across Fen’s face. 

“Last night,” I batted his hand away, flushing like the idiot I am, “Can’t a girl change her hair? What’s with all the questions?”  
  


“Nobody expects the Rivani Inquisition,” Waiting to see if his joke would land, Felassan arched one of his own eyebrows expectantly. 

“Their chief weapons are fear and surprise,” Droning the retort, fighting back my urge to smile (and kinda failing), “Though, you definitely don’t hail from Rivain. Your accent is… much more difficult to place.”  
  


“Oh, is that a setup for a question?” 

Though Fen smirked at me, his lips were slightly tighter than would’ve felt safe. I realized how very little I know about him.  
So, yes, I had a question. Truth be told, I have many questions.

_Do you roll your sleeves up like that on purpose? Intentionally baring those flawlessly tan, ropey forearms of yours because you’re aware of how the sight makes me stupid? And, right now, distracted—?_

 

“Just one,” I dragged my eyes away from his skin and back to his face, I offered a smart-ass smile, “But I don’t like to pry.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Fel chuckled, leaning in to loop his arm through my own, and guiding me around the spacious room.

 Fen merely shook his head with an _Oh, Felassan_ smile before moving to the circular bench in the center, lounging with an air of musing as he eyed one of the panel-less spaces.

 

“What is your one question, _daean’udh_?” Cooing, soothing voice: _little bird_. 

The deep bronze of Fel’s hand over my own, which I’d repositioned to rest on his arm, made me look paler than I am. He seemed like he could be very dangerous if one were to end up on the wrong side of his cheerful smile.  
  


“Are you really brothers? I-I mean, Fen’s mentioned being adopted, but—”

_WOW, Nae, SO TACTFUL! Shouldn’t your degree be in diplomacy?!_  
  
I felt the flush rise to the tips of my ears even before the words finished leaving my mouth. My embarrassment was punctuated when Fel dramatically threw his head back, barking in a rippling, full-bellied laughter that was surprisingly pleasant. I could see Fen’s shoulders gently shaking from behind, chuckling at me.

_A+ girl. Gold star, right here. Asking the important questions, huh?_  
  
  
“Aren’t you a charming creature! No, we are not _really_ brothers, Not as such,” Felassan patted my hand, and his body seemed to… _ignite (maybe?),_ or otherwise become energized, electric under my touch.

“Felassan is my oldest friend—”

“His ** _only_** friend, if we’re being honest,” Fel flicked a smug wink at Fen’s profile before the latter tossed his own head with exasperation, settling back into his repose. 

 

“So, what about you, Inhaelen Lavellan?” Fel turned his attention back to me, “Siblings? Parents? Distant and absurdly wealthy aunts or uncles naming you as their sole heir?”  
  
I bristled at the first two questions, but admittedly, the last one made me laugh.  
  
“I’m _Dalish_ —by birth, anyway. Not a lot of clans known for their wealth,” I looked at the man with mock incredulity, “Or such things as ‘distant’ relatives.

  
“Ah, sadly true,” A dramatic sigh, and then a sharp redirect, “And the immediate family?”

“Mamae is alive and well, living just outside Crestwood. Babae was a Warden, passed during the last Blight,” Then through gritted teeth, “And I have a sister who lives in Denerim.”

  
“Oh, you so you have a sister!” Felassan’s ears perked up, “Elder or younger? How old? Does she resemble you? What is her name?”

“Sheraliase is the first-born,” I was practically growling, “She’s 29, and she looks like me if I were about 4 inches taller and literally wasting away on a diet of drugs and domestic abuse—”

 

“—Perhaps you’ve pried enough, _Fel_ ,” Fen’s voice, stern, dark velvet was suddenly at my side, hand protectively cupping my elbow as he moved me a step back, beside him. 

“Ir abelas _breis_ , daean’udh,” Felassan swept into the sort of showy, deep bow I’d pretty much already come to expect from him, “I meant no offense, little bird. Truly.”

I might have thought he was apologizing more to Fen than me, but when he looked up, offering his hand to me, the glimmer of mischief was absent from eyes and his face was sincere. I placed my hand in his, thinking to help him straighten up, but he merely brushed a chivalrous whisper of a kiss across my knuckles. I could only offer a tight smile and nod before I moved to step away from them both.  
  
  
“If you’ll excuse me, I really don’t mean to be rude,” I tried to focus on the men in front of me instead of the thoughts of Sheraliase that bubbled to the surface, “I’ve been lazy about finishing my work for the day, and if I want to enjoy my weekend….”

Fel swept into another deep bow before turning to look over one of the frescos.

“Of course,” Fen leaned down to press his lips just below my ear, sending my head spinning and pulse quickening without effort, “I’ll text you in a moment. Enjoy the rest of your shift, _da’len._ ”

 

* * *

  **Incoming**  
**+0-(363)364-2735**  
****Fen §  
4:10 pm » When you are off work, I’d love to have you for dinner.  
And also cook dinner for us. No Fel allowed, cross my heart.

****  
Outgoing  
**+0-(363)364-2735**  
****Fen §  
As enticing as the offer is, I’m afraid you’re on your own tonight,  
Hahren. You looked sharp today, btw. **« 4:34 pm**  
 

**Incoming**  
**+0-(363)364-2735**  
****Fen §  
**4:39 pm »** Ma shila siugen, da’len.  
Well, if you should change your mind….  
  


* * *

 

I looked at his last text, wondering if this was even remotely what he was expecting. The hesitation was only for a heartbeat before I turned the doorknob and pushed Fen’s apartment door open—

“UH!” 

I half-screamed at the sight of him, immediately closing the door again, rolling over so my back was against the hallway wall.  
  


_Just like his back was, his hand hidden in the waistband of his jeans, the name “Naele” just barely discernable from a gasp— **OKAY, THANK YOU, BRAIN!**_  

His door opened suddenly at my side, and he peered over at me while I hyperventilated like the overexcited idiot I am. I could hear the sound of Say Anything’s _Alive_ start up from the speakers inside.  
 

“Nae,” Even slightly winded, Fen didn’t seem embarrassed in the least; in fact, his tone was coy and playful, “I thought you said I was on my own?”

“Er— _Surprise_?”  
  


I stepped back over to face him. My cheeks were long-past crimson, and burning hot enough to feel bouncing back off of the cool air. I was eye-level with his clavicle, so noting his standing in the doorway shirtless was unavoidable. His shoulders, when dressed, seemed like they would be too wide for him, but it struck me they fit his (now obviously, if subtly so) broad chest; his slim silhouette wiry-muscled, which I never cease to be unprepared to find.… And I realized I was distracted as he failed to stifle a chuckle at my expense.

“Well?” He cocked a brow at me, teasing, “Are you going to finish what you started?” 

“I, uh—”  
 

He cut off my mindless stammering, sliding his thumb between my breasts and grabbing my shirt, pulling me into him. A switch flipped in my brain, and I was all over him. My tongue fought past his lips, my hands caught in the tangled matting of his hair, pushing him back into his apartment with the unexpected weight of my body on his. He managed to shut the door behind him, turning us so his back fell against it. I was almost climbing him, clinging to him desperately; inhaling the breath from his lungs with an aggression I didn’t know I had—But he broke our kiss to search my face. 

_Those fucking eyes!_ **Mmmnn** —   
  


The moment was only the length of a heartbeat—a growl rumbled in the back of his throat before his lips were crashing violently back against mine, and he slammed me into the adjacent wall. The impact forced the wind from my chest, but my body was already responding encouragingly before my mind could catch up (not that there was the slightest complaint.) One of my arms had crawled down his spine, and now abruptly my nails dug into the surrounding muscle and dragged upwards. I lifted my legs without effort and wrapped them around his waist; he had me pinned me against the wall with his hips, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. His cool skin was a shock against my own, marbled with pink and radiating heat, a wheeze pulled from my lungs.  
 

> _“But Ms. Black Eyeliner / you'd look finer / with each day in hiding_  
>  _Beneath the wormwood / Ooh, love me so good_  
>  _They won't hear us screw away the day / I'll make you say:_  
>  _Alive with love / Alive with love tonight!”_  
>    
> 

Fen took the opportunity to focus on my neck, biting down hard and eliciting an involuntarily loud moan from me. He hummed, relishing the weak sound, and slid his hands down my sides to hook his thumbs underneath the waist of my jeans, pulling me more tightly against him. I could feel his cock pressing against my inner thigh through our denim layers; I let my weight settle more completely into the seam of our bodies—he groaned into my neck, I grinned wickedly at the ceiling at my momentary victory.  
  


“ _Coquine_ ,” A low, dangerous rumble in Orlesian against my skin, provoked a shudder to rush from my scalp, down to the tip of my toes.  
  


He snickered into my throat again at the resulting cue, before biting again. I snatched his head back by his hair with a hiss, his turn to smile with satisfaction. Hardly a good sport, I leaned forward and bit his bottom lip: drawing blood and feeling my body lifted away from the wall…only to be thumped back again. His fingers were fumbling with the button of my jeans, so I slackened my legs from around him. Only to be brusquely dropped to the floor as he urgently tugged my pants down, away from my skin. I started with his clasp as I began to drop to my knees—but his hands caught me underneath my arms, “Tsk”-ing at me in reproach. 

_Fine then, Hahren….  
_  

My mental sass went unpunished, though, as I finally pushed the clothing from his hips, and he lifted me back onto his hips again. He kissed me vehemently, one hand pulling roughly at my hair while the other curled under my ass, nails no doubt leaving red crescents in their wake. I was purring into his mouth when he drove into me; my cries were probably both a result of the thrust and the faint ache of my head bouncing off of the wall…but, if we’re being honest, definitely more so the former.  
Especially considering their continued echo off of the high ceilings above us. 

>   
>  “ _Alive with love / Alive with love tonight!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isama'lin: Brother  
> Daean’udh: Little bird  
> Mamae: Mother  
> Babae: Father  
> Ir bre’abelas: I am deeply/intensely sorry  
> Ma shila siugen: You sweet-talker/flatterer (lit. You spit sugar)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you again for sticking with me!!! All my love ❤❤

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments, kudos, and constructive-criticism is appreciated!  
> <3<3<3


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